


For You To Notice Me

by 24tigers



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 87,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/24tigers/pseuds/24tigers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta has been in love with Katniss since the sixth grade.  He spends the next six years trying to get her to notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I'm starting to fashion an idea in my head...

**Present**

I recline my seat back in the Tahoe a little farther, hoping to get more comfortable. To my disappointment, it's already back as far as it will go, so I try to adjust myself instead. I'm hoping if I can stop concentrating so much on the task at hand, maybe things will get easier.

Brittany is laying across my lap with her right hand wrapped around my leg. Her mouth has been resiliently working on my cock for the last forty five minutes, but it seems like we’re getting nowhere. I keep going back and forth between soft and semi-hard states, and I can see the frustration in her eyes. She brings herself back up to my mouth and nips at my bottom lip.

"Is everything all right, Peeta?" she whispers into a soft kiss. I nod my head at her, but I’m lying. I can't tell her that she isn't the girl I’ve been in love with since the sixth grade.

I feel a cold sweat coming from my forehead. _Get it together, Mellark,_ I tell myself. I can't get a reputation for not being able to get it up or I'll never hear the end of it from my brothers.

She brings her warm mouth back down on me. I close my eyes tight and try to envision Katniss. Her long, brown hair is in a braid that sways slightly to the side. A tight fitting black shirt hugs and accentuates the curve of her hips. When I imagine it's her tight, pink lips going back and forth on me, I begin to throb. I gently caress Brittany's arm, thinking this isn't what her light olive skin would feel like. It would be softer, more muscular. Her frame would be slightly smaller, leaning against my thigh. The hunting boots she wears would go over her tight black pants, the laces loosely tied. The minute I imagine her steely gray eyes looking up at me from between my knees, I can't hold it anymore.

I let out a deep moan and Brittany tightens the grip of her mouth on me. She swallows every bit of what I have to give and wipes her lips. She comes back up to my face again. My eyes are still closed, but I can feel her planting kisses along my neck. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and kiss her forehead.

"You didn't have to do that," I point out.

She rests her head and weight against my chest before replying. "I know. But I wanted to."

"I just wasn't expecting that," I add.

"Well, now you know how I feel about you."

Her brown eyes meet mine as she straddles me in the front seat. I am not shocked when she takes my hand and puts it down the front of her jeans. My brother told me that she isn't very shy, which should have been my first warning. I feel her sticky wetness over my fingers and she lets out a soft sigh in my mouth. I plunge two of them inside her and penetrate deeply. I rock my strong hand with force until I feel her tighten. When she is wet enough, I gently begin rubbing my wet thumb over her clitoris while still pumping into her. Her hips thrust hard against me and her knees shake. A hard contraction washes over my hand as she cries out sharply, followed by her soft panting against my neck. She catches her breath while leaning her weight against my arm.

"That was hot," she says with a raspy voice. "Maybe next time we can have even more fun." She glances down at my crotch, giving me the impression that ‘next time’ is included in the scenario. I smile at her, despite my knowing that there won't be a next time. There usually isn't when it's anyone other than Katniss. But I try to always be gentlemanly, no matter what.

I help adjust her hair a little bit so our sexual escapades aren't so obvious to everyone. I pull my wool baseball trousers back up to my waist and re-clasp my belt. She helps button my jersey back up. I look around the school parking lot, noticing that cars are starting to appear. We have a big game tonight in Cheswick and I'm close to being late for warm-up.

"I had a nice time, but I have to go. Will I see you at the game?" I ask, because it makes me feel like less of a jerk.

"I'll be rooting for number 9," she says with beaming eyes. I give her a soft kiss on the cheek and open my driver’s side door. As I walk to the gym door to get to the locker room, I can feel her eyes on me the whole way.

* * *

**2006**

"Aww, Dad! I hate going to the stupid Spring Series!" I look up at him, knowing he is still probably going to make me go. It's so asinine. Nate, one of my friends who lives down the street, is having a get-together tonight. I had previously made plans to go with him, forgetting about this idiotic event.

But I already know it's coming. Mom and Dad make us go to the Spring Series concert every year. It's a school year coming to a close celebration. It's usually in May, so to me it doesn't make sense; there’s still another month of school left. All the students at Brookdale Middle School can try out, but only fifteen actually make it and get to perform. For the finale, the Middle School Concert Band plays a song from their Band Festival performance. Usually, the Series is just band geeks blowing a bunch of shit into their instruments with an occasional talented student. The High School one is usually much better because all the students are old enough and smart enough to figure out what they are and aren't good at. That one isn't until next week, which we will have to go to as well, I'm sure.

Mitch and Jovi are leaning against the front door, waiting impatiently. Suddenly, they lean forward to glance up at our Mom, who is at the top of the stairs. Jovi starts twirling his fingers at me in a motion that says 'get a move on'.

I then hear Mitch chime, "Hurry up, Peeta, before she comes down."

My stomach is growling. I search frantically for something in the cabinet. The only thing that calls to me is a fruit roll-up. I quickly grab it and meet my brothers at the front door just before she makes her way down. My Dad lets out a sigh of relief that we're all ready to go and motions towards the car. A blast of Pennsylvania wind and rain immediately hits us when we open the front door. My Mom quickly follows behind us with her umbrella, hovering it over our heads. Once inside the car, we all shiver and fall silent.

The school auditorium is quite majestic. The seats are all brilliant red with blue stitching for our school colors. A dimly lit stage with red and blue curtains awaits this year’s talents. As we walk near the front, I see Delly and excitedly wave. I know I won't be able to sit with her, but I ask anyways.

"Dad, can I sit with Delly?"

My Mom doesn't give him the opportunity to answer. "No, we sit as a family." Her tone is cold, as always. Mitch and Jovi walk soundlessly behind me. When I glance back, they give me a look that tells me to shut up and and sit where I have to.

We sit down just before the curtain opens. Mr. Mills, a popular history teacher, introduces himself as the host for the evening. As soon as he calls up the first talent and they hit the stage, I sigh in despair. My prediction is accurate. One, two, three cluelessly meander up the stage. A red haired girl with glasses rigidly blows into her saxophone, attempting to play 'Amazing Grace.' Her notes are muffled and out of tune. For how many students that try out, you’d think they would be able to get somebody good. Next up is a boy from my language arts class who always wears the same shirt every day. He sings some song I've never heard of. He isn't horrible, but he isn't good either. By intermission, I am basically jumping out of my seat to find feeble entertainment.

I go and meet Delly at the cookie and candy stand. She has a Butterfinger and can of orange soda. Our other friend, Cato, is standing next to her, unwrapping Starburst chews.

"Hey guys," I banter. "What's going on?"

Cato makes a face and glances across at another girl, Glimmer, who is buying a pack of Sour Patch Kids. My attention quickly turns, however, once I take notice of the girl next to her with long brown hair, buying a peanut butter cookie.

"Glimmer," Cato says, mesmerized. "Dude, she is so hot." We watch as she hands her money over to pay for the candy. I peer again at the long haired girl before she walks back into the auditorium, kind of entranced by her olive skin.

Delly rolls her eyes. "She is mean and two faced. Last week, she was making fun of Clove and told her to go commit suicide already. She is a mega bitch."

When we make our way back to the auditorium, I am less antsy than before. I take a seat next to my Dad and feel the loving soft pat that hits my shoulder. Some of the last of the talents aren't all that dreadful. One girl sings a song by Avril Lavigne which is every bit as bad as I thought it would be, but all else is bearable. When it comes time for the last person to go, I am ecstatic.

Mr. Mills introduces Katniss Everdeen to the audience, and she makes her way over to the piano at the side of the stage that hasn't been used all evening. A moment of clarity immediately hits me; it's the long-haired, peanut butter cookie girl. I find myself in a world of fascination when she opens the wooden piano lid and situates herself.

My dad whispers over in my ear,"See that girl? I almost married her mother, but she ran off with a welder instead. They said that when he sang, everyone stopped to listen."

A glorious piano melody begins. I begin to shudder, thinking about what her voice will sound like. When her mouth opens and her vocals come into play, my heart melts. I don't recognize the song, but it sounds incredible. It could possibly be something older, but it hardly matters when her fingers drag across the piano like magic. She never misses a note.

I hang on to every word as the music continues, never taking for granted how especially beautiful she is. I suddenly don't blame my Dad for falling in love with her mother. Every person in the audience is afraid to breathe, worried they might miss a syllable.

She begins singing the chorus and I swear she is looking right at me.

_And wild horses, couldn't drag me away..._

I am so incredibly captivated by her voice. It seems so effortless, like the words just roll off her tongue. When she finishes, the crowd erupts with applause. I immediately feel like something is missing, and I want to try to capture it all over again.

When we get home that night, I look up the Wild Horses song. I search through all my old yearbooks, trying to figure out who Katniss Everdeen is. She isn't involved in any clubs, except band. The only thing I know is that she likes the Rolling Stones and peanut butter cookies.

The next day after school, I stop at my parents’ restaurant on my walk home. I go back into the kitchen where my Dad, the Executive Chef, is filling soufflé cups with a sauce substance.

"Hey, Dad! What are you making?" He looks back at me with a smile, hunched over the stainless steel counter. His white chef coat shows heavy signs of wear. He ladles skillfully into the cups, paying special attention to glance back over in my direction. He absolutely loves when I take an interest in the restaurant.

"I'm portioning out dill butter for salmon. It's being served for tonight’s dinner service. Want to help?"

"I was hoping you could show me how to make peanut butter cookies. Are you really busy?" I ask this with a hopeful voice, but his eyes immediately fill with sorrow. I should have known that he is preoccupied.

"Peeta, I'm swamped. I still have to make ceviche and roll croutons for salads. Ask Jovi, he may have time."

Jovi works part time in the restaurant, mainly helping Dad on the weekends. He is pretty much the sous chef at this point. I make my way over to him and plead my case.

"Why are these cookies so important to you? Normally, you don't give a shit about this stuff." When I tell him they are for a girl, he starts to laugh.

"Alright, alright. I'm almost done with the bread dough. Give me twenty minutes." I end up watching my father gracefully toss bread squares in a hearty butter mixture. He coats them in spices and quickly transfers them to sheet trays. Once they hit the oven, a stomach growling smell fills the air. I quickly become entranced in the art of cooking, and begin wondering why I have never stopped by here previously.

I linger back over to where Jovi is. He signals that he is ready for me and gives me a list of ingredients. I go and find butter, flour, peanut butter, baking powder and soda, eggs, vanilla and sugar. I stack them all on a plastic cart and wheel it back over to our prep table.

Jovi shows me that cookies come out much better when the butter is at room temperature. He demonstrates to me how to make a variety of things like frosting and using a scoop to get even sized cookies. He winds up having to leave me at six to go work the dinner service, but I successfully finish two dozen cookies around seven.

The next morning I leave for school early. I double check my backpack nearly four times just to make sure I have the cookies. I learned where Katniss' locker was the previous day. When I get there, I quickly find myself in an internal struggle. Do I leave the cookies and just go? Or do I give them to her myself?

Around 7:40, she gets to her locker and begins inputting her combination. I consider my two options again and go with my gut. I walk over to Katniss boldly with the ziploc bags in hand. As I approach, she looks me up and down. I notice when standing so close to her that she is significantly taller than me. My twelve year old body has not yet filled out. I'm mostly short and skinny and my blonde hair is overdue for a haircut. As for her, her body is already beginning to blossom. Her hips are defined and her breasts curve smoothly across her chest.

I go to talk and find myself stammering like a fool. I try desperately to work through it.

"I...I...made you some cookies. Well, my, my brother Jovi and I did." I hand the bags over to her, wanting to smack myself in the mouth. I talk to girls all the time. What is my problem?

Her expression wears confusion, but she apprehensively takes the bags nonetheless. "Thanks...I guess..."

I realize then that I have no reason to give her cookies. We have never even spoken before.

"I know we don't know each other...but I thought maybe we could be friends? My name is Peeta." Her glare gives off a distrusting vibe. Damn, I should have found a way to do this less awkwardly. I didn't plan this out and now she is going to think I'm a douche forever. The warning bell begins to ding and I know I've blown my chance.

"Um...I'm running late." She is quickly rummaging for books for first period. I try to think of something else to say, but I draw a blank.

"Well, what lunch do you have? Maybe I can sit with you?" Her feet begin to move and she is fast.

"I have lunch B, but our table is usually full. I'll talk to you later," she says running down hallway D. My head hangs down and I hear the first bell of the day blare. For some reason, the only thing I can think of is the song she sang so beautifully.

_Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them someday…_

* * *

**Present**

"I'm just saying, you don't have to be such a man-whore."

Delly says this while helping carry our extra gloves and catchers equipment on the bus. A lot of times, girls from Varsity softball will help out on the boy's JV or Varsity games and vice versa. Delly is usually the first to volunteer because she and I are best friends.

"I don't think I can be labeled a man-whore when she basically threw herself at me. I'm never letting Mitch and Jovi try to set me up again. The last one worked at Hooters on the weekends."

I meet Delly's green eyes as she laughs hysterically. "I think you have the option to throw her off of you if it's that serious. I'm just saying you're starting to get a reputation, Mellark."

It's true that I have had the company of many women recently. Lately, it seems like every time I turn around they have just been there; I'm not looking for it. Mitch and Jovi are partially to thank for this, but there has been a series of instances at school or events where I have received a lot of attention.

"I don't know why, it's not like I'm going around asking girls out."

"Look, Peeta, do I really have to say it?"

I look at her blankly. Say what? I must have a stupid look on my face because she blurts out the answer to my silent question.

"Peeta, you're hot!"

A small smile forms in the corner of my lips. She shoves my shoulder hard when she notices and this only makes it worse.

"I'm just saying, keep it in your pants. You're buff, you play baseball and you're smart. Girls dig you, Peeta. But the one you want is going to get the wrong idea if you don't start thinking a little bit."

Part of me wants to shrug my shoulders, but I know that Delly is probably right. Instead, I let out a loud sigh and she gives me an evil eye.

"Don't hand me that. You got here all by yourself, Don Juan."

I continue to help load equipment. I grab the whole rack filled with bats at once and lift them onto the back of the bus. Delly watches me with scared, wide eyes.

"Are you trying out for American Gladiators? Let someone help you. Good Lord!" I scoff at her banter, which happens often.

Since we are in Springdale, the trip to Cheswick isn't far. I hate this trip of the season. Usually, our varsity team gets pounded by the Cheswick Hawks every year. They always seem to steal four or five bases in one game, making our defense crumble. Our helpless outfield becomes disheveled when a flimsy single leads to a man standing on third base. I usually just stand helplessly at my shortstop position, trying to cover my face. It's just embarrassing.

I've been on varsity since I was a freshman, and this is the first year we have actually won more games than lost. Coach Zuccaro told me last week that he thinks there may be scouts watching me. To be honest, I haven't really thought about college too much. Baseball has always been fun for me, and I don't want anything to take that away.

On the bus, Cato sits behind me with his headphones on, drowning out the sound of the world. This is his pre-game ritual. I can almost bet money that he is listening to Aerosmith. Cato has a deep appreciation for 80's music. Nate sits next to me texting on his phone, and I assume it's probably his girlfriend.

When we get to Cheswick, the parking lot is completely full. This is the game everyone has been talking about all year. When getting off the bus, I catch a glimpse of my Dad's F-150 and smile to myself, knowing that probably means Mitch and Jovi are here as well.

When we get to the dugout, it becomes evident that there is nowhere left to sit on the bleachers. People are setting up lawn chairs and sitting on the grass to watch the game. Cato, Nate, and I exchange worried glances with one another.

I cringe in the first inning when I dive for a ground ball and it bounces just under my glove. The runner ends up stealing second despite a solid throw from Nate at catcher. Two batters later, a bloop single in front of Cato in right field scores him.

The next seven innings go scoreless on both sides. The bases are loaded for Cheswick in the eighth inning. Our reliever, Ben, is throwing erratic and walks in a run. The next play is a solid line drive hit right into my glove. I double them up on a quick throw to Nate at home for an easy out.

In the top of the ninth inning, we finally get some offense going. Two of our men reach base, but we have two outs. When I get up to bat, I feel the tension and pressure of everyone looking at me. We're down two runs and it’s all up to me.

The first pitch I get is that same down and away slider that the previous batter struck out on. I lay off it, knowing better from watching Cheswick's dominating pitching. The next pitch is a fastball up and in that breezes right by me. In predictable fastball counts, I end up swinging and missing the next two pitches, which end up being heavy bending curveballs. With two strikes on me, I choke up on the bat and get prepared to shorten my swing.

I'm not sure what to expect after two big bending curveballs. When he brings his arm back and lets the ball loose, his arm slot looks the same as the last two pitches. I see the same slow, big-bending curveball and know that I have time. I bring my hands back down on the bat and push all my weight on my front foot. My arms move quickly and powerfully as I bring them up. I gaze up as the ball carries high in the wind, traveling deep in the outfield. Half the people in the bleachers rise to their feet as it flies over the fence in left field, and Cato brings his hands to the air.

I kiss my two first fingers and raise them above my head as I always do after hitting a home run. That curveball was a gift to me, and the opposing pitcher kicks at the mound angrily in realization. I can't stop the smile on my lips when I reach the mob at home plate. My teammates bombard me with cheers, but all I can think of is whether Katniss is in the stands right now or not.

* * *

**2007**

The cold winds of January are at bay today. We bask in rare warmth that washes over the East coast near the middle of winter. Jovi and I are at the park, taking turns hitting the ball and catching. He is older and hits the ball much farther than me, but I don't mind. I like spending time with him and he feels the same about me, though we will never admit it to one another.

The park has bike paths that stretch through the course of it, so we have to be careful not to hit the ball near there. Occasionally as I'm catching, Jovi will misfire and I have to go diving near the cement trail. When this happens, I am rewarded with angry glances and begrudging stares from walking pedestrians.

Jovi hits a ball hard and high, so I begin a sprint across the grass in attempt to catch it. When I come close to grasping the ball in the tip of my mitt, I take a hard tumble. I end up tripping over a tree log and fall flat on my face.

I hear a slight giggle coming from over near the trail. When I brace myself back up and glance over to see who it is, my face turns bright red. It's Katniss and Johanna Mason on their bikes, slowly making their way across the cement.

"Nice catch," Johanna says mockingly just before growing smaller in the distance. I hear Jovi's footsteps coming and slowly bring myself to my feet. He looks concerned for a moment, but once he sees I'm okay, a smile escapes from his lips.

"Dude, you just ate it...hard."

"Yeah, yeah," I say angrily. I start pushing my hands hard against my jeans, trying to wipe away the dirt.  
Once Jovi sees my disappointment, his grin quickly dissipates.

"That catch should have probably been an overhand one. We can practice," he chimes in a hopeful tone. In that same moment, Katniss and Johanna have returned on the circular trail. This time I can make out her green cargo pants and old tennis shoes. My eyes can't help but follow her every inch until she is out of view, completely enamored.

Jovi slaps my chest with his mitt. "Dude, close your mouth. You're drooling."

He hands me the bat and ball and points back in the direction he came from. "Show ‘em what you’ve got, Romeo."

I throw the tennis ball up in front of me and take a swing. It travels far and Jovi has to go back quite a ways to catch it. His running grab is both impressive and flashy.

When he walks back toward me holding the ball in front of him, his grin is wide.

"If you want girls to pay attention to you, that's how it's done. You’ve gotta be worth looking at." I look back at him bleakly and nod my head, mentally registering this advice.

"You should try out for baseball in a few weeks. You're not bad." He weakly pats me on the back, but my head hangs low. I glance back over at the trail again. Katniss and Johanna are pedaling fiercely, racing their bikes while low giggles escape their mouths. I wistfully wish that I had a bike and could join them. I remember the last time I tried to talk to Katniss almost a year ago, and how that never really boded well.

From this point forward, I know I will put my best efforts forth to excel in everything and anything I do, anything that will get Katniss Everdeen to notice me.

* * *

**Present**

We end up beating Cheswick 3 to 2. The cool spring air grows colder as the night approaches. The whole team doesn't seem to mind because everyone is basically on cloud nine. Family and friends flood the field, and my Dad and brothers come over to congratulate me. Mitch is the first to pat my back and ruffle my hair playfully. Jovi has his arm wrapped around an attractive red-haired woman I've never seen. She looks to be slightly older, which is unusual for my brother.

"You obviously learn from the best," Mitch points out. "That swing didn't come from nowhere!"

I roll my eyes at this lovely banter. I use this opportunity to also scan the crowd and see if Katniss is anywhere in sight. That's when I feel a small, frail arm reach around my own.

"Good job, Mellark. You know, next time you ought to try getting on base before the ninth inning. That way, you don't have to be the hero." Delly taunts. Her hazel eyes meet up with mine and we hold a small smile at one another.

"Hey, Delly," Mitch says seductively and winks at her. Mitch has had a crush on her for years.

"In your dreams, Mitch."

"Yes, you are," he replies with a wide grin.

"Now, now," our Dad begins to protest. Sometimes we all forget he is within earshot because he is so quiet.

"I'm sorry, we've never met. I'm Peeta," I say, holding my hand out to Jovi's female acquaintance. She blushes slightly and takes my hand.  
"Anna," she replies. I shoot my brother a glare for being rude and he silently mouths 'I'm sorry.'

As we are mingling and chatting with one another, a young, small framed blonde haired girl makes her way over to us calling Delly's name. When she is near, I recognize her face but can't quite put a name to it.

"Delly," she says with blazing blue eyes. "They are throwing a party at Finnick’s. Do you want to come?"

There is only one Finnick that most of us know of, and that is Finnick Odair. His family is extremely wealthy and lives in the north part of town. He graduated a few years ago, but still throws elaborate parties and invites his high school friends. I think he is a tool, but probably because he has always been good friends with Katniss. The fact that he gets a new Mercedes every other week doesn't help either. Half the girls at school drool incessantly over him. I just hope Katniss isn't one of them.

"Prim, you're going?" Delly asks this with a questioning glare. Prim? As in Primrose Everdeen? As in related to Katniss Everdeen?

I let out a breath of air. She is growing up fast.

"I'm fourteen, Delly, and go to the same high school you do. Besides, Katniss won't be there bossing me around. She has to work in the morning."

My heart sinks a little at this comment. I realize that while Prim can be invaluable because of the information she holds, and have second thoughts about brushing off going to this party.

"We should go, Delly," I say with hopeful eyes.

I visually examine Prim again. She is nothing like her sister down to the very core. From their physical attributes, one would never even know they are siblings. Like Katniss at her age, she has begun to fill out her clothes with curves, but her demeanor is credulous. Katniss is always aware of her surroundings and leery, but Prim is trusting and naive. The blonde hair and blue eyes feature is from their mother, but only Prim has this gene. I think Katniss probably takes after their father, but Prim is no brush off. She is of great beauty already, and I'm sure when she gets older she will only grow more attractive.

We agree to meet at Finnick's around nine. Delly and I have to leave anyways because we need to get back on the bus to Springdale. When we find our seats, she plops next to me and shoots me a fiery look.

"What are you doing?" she says with audible anger.

I look back at her with a questioning glance. I have no idea what she is talking about. "Going to Finnick's party, Peeta? Why would we do that? You can't stand Finnick!"

"And why didn't you tell me that you're friends with Katniss' sister?"

"She is a freshman who sits next to me in a stupid painting class. I didn't think there was anything to tell."

"Well, this is my chance. I'm not going to blow it."

Delly puts her hand on mine and speaks compassionately. "Peeta, I'm telling you this as your best friend because I love you. There is no chance. We are graduating in two months. Katniss Everdeen has been ignoring you for the last six years. Maybe it's time you start thinking about another Prom date."

Her words send a pang of anguish coursing through me. I'm not ready to give up though, and I tell her so. She shakes her head in disgust and throws her arms up in defeat. I pay this no attention and revert my gaze to the window.

When we get back to Springdale, I hit the showers. Delly and Cato are waiting next to the Tahoe when I come out. I can feel her eyes examining me up and down.

"What?" I question.

"You're not really going to wear that to the party, are you?" Cato starts to laugh at this comment and I flip him off.

I look down at my t shirt and mesh basketball shorts. It's muggy today and I didn't think I needed to go anywhere afterwards. "Alright, I'll stop home and change."

Delly helps me rummage through my closet and we find a nice pair of jeans and a button down shirt for me to put on. Cato waits impatiently in the living room the whole time, intermittently yelling comments about our fashion show and how it's not going to matter anyways.

On the drive to Finnick's, my mind begins to wander. My hope is that Katniss will change her mind and come to the party. I've been conceptualizing our first real conversation for years, playing it over and over again in my head. She would exchange captivating stares with me and we would sit and talk for hours. Everything would be effortless and real. I will steal quick smiles and catch her secretly staring at me...

"Peeta, green light." Cato taps me from the backseat. My foot is crushed against the brake pedal, and I snap back to reality.

It's obvious once we hit Finnick's street that someone is having a party. There are no empty spaces and we have to park two blocks over.

Once we reach the house, we look up in amazement. It's absolutely grandiose. The main foyer has an impressive swiveling staircase made of marble tiles that brightly glare as soon as you walk in. The woodwork of the chair railings and moldings is original, but has been restored to a stunning condition. The ceilings never seem to reach a stop when you look up. When I peek over at Delly and Cato, they seem to be in the same enamored state that I am.

Cato lets out a soft whistle. "What does his Dad do? Give me an application!"

The first room all three of us enter is completely open. It backs into two big glass french doors and shows the view of a majestic pool. As soon as Cato sees this, he bails on us.

"I'll text you in a bit," he says, running off.

I grab Delly's hand to make sure we don't get split up. We make our way over to a colossal living area with a huge marble fireplace. Even with how large the house is, there are still people everywhere. Some of them I recognize, but many are older and obviously friends of Finnick’s. So far, Delly is the only person here I would even want to talk to.

I come to a halt when I catch sight of Prim standing with two other girls by the fireplace. Delly rolls her eyes and lets go of my hand. "I'm going to get something to drink while you make yourself look pathetic. I'll see you in a few."

She abandons me before I can protest, so I have no choice but to go and talk to Prim. As I get closer, I observe that she has applied a lot of make-up to her face. She looks older than before, but very unnatural. Her jeans are skin tight and her shirt is much too revealing. If I was her father, I’d have a heart-attack. Her two tagalongs are wearing matching mini skirts and tank-tops, but in different colors. It reminds me of the Double-Mint commercials they used to play on television.

"Peeta!" Her eyes light up as I enter her vision. She wraps her small arms around my neck and I gather a lingering smell of alcohol from her.

"Hey, you. How's the party?"

"Prim was just telling us about how you hit that game winning home run," Double-Mint One says with a smirk. I am seeing a trend with the overuse of cosmetics.

I nod my head at this. The other girl in a bright red tank top is staring at me intensely, almost to the point of discomfort. I lean on my other foot while under scrutiny, trying to think of something to say. I end up not needing to because Prim does the talking for me.

"It was awesome. You guys should have been there."

"It's cool. Not everyone loves baseball like you do." Double-Mint Two adds.

I raise an eyebrow at this. "You love baseball, Prim?" She nods and blushes in embarrassment.

"Why don't you try out for softball?"

"I'm not very good," she shrugs in disappointment. I make a half-cocked smile at her and nudge her in encouragement.

"I'll help you out if you promise to try out next year. Deal?"

"Deal," she replies, beaming.

Double-Mint's One and Two are looking at each other with stupid smirks. I'm trying to read what's going on, but I am clueless.

"So, Katniss couldn't make it?" I try to ask nonchalantly.

Prim rolls her eyes at this. She grabs a half-full glass from the tall table she is standing next to and takes a deep swig from the straw.

"No, she has to work in the morning," Double-Mint replies. I can no longer remember what numbers I assigned to which.

"Thank God," Prim adds. "She never lets me go anywhere without her. I had to sneak out just to come tonight."

"She’s probably just looking out for you. Does she work early in the morning?" I try to sound completely uninterested, but it's hard to contain.

"Yeah. She works at Starbucks, so she has to get up really early on the weekends." Bingo. Thank you, Double-Mint girl!

The other Double-Mint looks over at me. "Do you work, Peeta?"

"Umm, yeah actually. I work at Honest Abe's. It's my parents’ restaurant." My mouth is getting dry and I'm tired of standing. I start to look around in attempt to learn my surroundings.

"Aw, I love that place," answers the pink Double-Mint. "They have the best fries."

I smile, knowing that my Dad has spent years perfecting every recipe. It started off small, but Honest Abe's has vastly expanded over the last decade. My father is now semi-retired and can enjoy the money he makes instead of working grueling hours.

"What do you do there, Peeta?" Prim looks genuinely interested. I usually don't find my life all that enthralling, but apparently it’s a hot topic today.

"Um, I'm a sous chef. I worked under my Dad for years learning all of his recipes." I move a short blonde curl that sweeps against my eyelash.

"So, you can cook?" Pink Double-Mint almost asks this like cooking is some unknown, foreign trade to society.

"Well, yes. But I really like baking. For the last year, I've been learning how to make and decorate all the cakes and stuff. Our pastry chef is really good and a great teacher."

At that moment, Delly returns with two bottles of water and hands one to me. I take it graciously and feel the cold water run down my dry throat.

"Hey, Delly," Prim says with a large smile. Her smile is from ear to ear and it makes my own lips curl up. Delly takes notice of this and smirks.

"I'm going to try to go find Cato," I chime, feeling embarrassed. "I'm pretty tired." Delly follows suit and waves goodbye to Prim and the Double-Mint twins. Prim comes racing up to us before we get further away and stands directly in front of me.

"I'll see you soon, right?" she asks wistfully. I laugh and nod my head, giving her a hug before leaving. Delly has a hand over her face, covering her laughter.

We search for Cato for almost forty minutes, but have no luck. We decide he is old enough to find his own way home and head for the Tahoe. On our way to the car, Delly starts laughing out of nowhere. It's almost evil and is quite frightening.

"What the hell? What's so funny?"

She is standing in the middle of the street, her back hunched over and holding her stomach. Tears are streaming down her face from amusement.

"You. You really have no idea."

I put my hands up in wonderment. "What?"

"That little girl is madly in love with you."


	2. Chapter 2

**2009**

I lean against the brick wall of Springdale High, waiting for Jovi to meet me. He always takes his time after school, meandering through the hallways and chatting with girls. I've been considering walking home from now on for the last two weeks just because he is so slow.

It's only September, so the late summer warmth still washes over us. From a distance, I catch a slight glimpse of Gale Hawthorne making his way to his Jeep Wrangler. The soft top is pushed back so it's a convertible. A gust of wind blows air into his sleeveless Springdale Football shirt and swimming trunks. When his chiseled chest comes into view, I almost vomit a little bit in my mouth. I want to roll my eyes at every girl who swoons as he walks by. What is it that women see in him? The guy is a total ass!

I squint in the sun as Katniss comes running out of the gym doors and leaps into his arms. He lifts her off the ground and and gracelessly places her in the passenger side of the Jeep. His lips gently peck her cheek. I chuckle when he puts on a pair of ridiculous looking sunglasses. He runs his hands through his hair in a dramatic fashion, almost as though he’s doing it for show. With his sunglasses and beach looking attire, it almost reminds me of watching Baywatch.

I decide that I will only refer to Gale as ' _The Hoff_ ' from now on. If he has her, this is my only retribution; I might as well enjoy it.

I try to peel my eyes away, but I can't. There is a lingering pain deep in my chest that pounds with every beat of my heart. I feel my airway tighten and fingers clench into fists. I need to do something, anything other than watch this.

Despite the humidity, I kick my feet off the brick wall in frustration and opt to walk home. My bag is full of history and math books, which proves to be heavy right away. The mile I travel back to my house is bitchy and bitter. As I approach, Jovi pulls up in his car right before I get to the driveway. He throws his arms up at me almost immediately.

"Where were you? I looked all over." His blonde hair is without curls and plastered to his forehead from the heat.

"You were taking forever, so I walked." I adjust my book bag over my right shoulder and head for the back door.

"Whatever," he says. "We're leaving in two hours for the game tonight. Mitch and I aren't waiting around for you."

When we get to the game that evening, the stands are packed. Springdale's Marching Band takes up one whole section with their blue and red uniforms. I look through the brass instrument section, relentlessly trying to pinpoint her whereabouts. Everyone looks so similar in the blue and red, I almost don't find her.

I finally catch wind of those shimmering gray eyes. She looks delicate in the pressed pants and large coat with gold buttons. A happy expression lingers on her face as she laughs, sitting next to Johanna Mason.

"We should sit up there," I point my brothers to a spot near the back row. It's only five bleachers away from where Katniss is.

"As long as there’s enough room for the girls! Let's remember the important things, Peeta!" Mitch comments with a ridiculous grin splayed across his face.

Glimmer and some girl named Katie end up sitting next to us in the stands. Jovi is sweet talking Katie, while Glimmer and Mitch swoon over each other. I just sit quietly, sipping soda through my straw.

"I'm just saying…in a world where I have to choose between my penis and my leg, my penis wins every time." I roll my eyes; if only Glimmer knew how many times I have heard this.

She heartily laughs at Mitch's joke. It sounds fake to me, but that could subconsciously be Delly in the back of my head. She is always saying how Glimmer is an artificial, horrible human being.

"Would I win?" Glimmer asks mid-swig. Dark cola shoots out of my nostrils as I choke back my laughter. Thank God no one is sitting in front of us. Cato will also be heartbroken to know that she has been shamelessly flirting with Mitch all night.

I'm not a huge football fan and the game is extremely boring to me. I try to keep myself busy by stealing glances back at Katniss and Johanna. Everyone erupts when Finnick Odair throws a touchdown, but I just sulk. Every so often between plays, I hear the luscious sound of her trumpet waking me from my lull. I watch the way her lips glide over the mouthpiece, and await the sweet vibrations that will soon fill my ears. Katniss has perpetually reminded me of a musical prodigy; multi-talented and entirely capable of playing any instrument that is set in her hands. It sounds odd, but I've always wanted to know what her limits are. Is there a ceiling to her abilities? What else is she good at?

When the band director makes everyone gear up and put their hats on, I can't help but chuckle. It's big and fits awkward on Katniss' head. I chuckle when she attempts to tighten the clasp around her chin and the tassel tickles her nose. Johanna laughs as well because the rim of her hat keeps falling in front of her eyes, robbing any attempt of seeing.

The Marching Band plays its halftime show, but I only partially watch. I’m too busy focusing on the way Katniss moves and coordinates herself. I love the way her brows furrow and her face tightens when she is concentrating. Her steps are smooth and effortless on the grass in comparison to many of the other students, who take clunky roll steps.

When the band returns to the stands, Johanna sets her trumpet down and makes her way to the bottom of the bleachers.

"I'm going to get food. I'll be back," she chimes.

"Bring me back some nachos," Katniss yells.

"No way! You still haven't paid me back for the last two times," Johanna blurts while making her way to the concessions area.

I reach in my pocket and feel for money. I find the twenty dollar bill that I had stuffed in there earlier. An idea sparks in my mind and I almost hop out of my seat.

I make my way down the bleachers and head over to the nacho stand. The line probably has four people in it at most, but after five minutes none of us have moved. By the time I get to the front register, half time is nearly over. With multiple nachos in hand, I quickly move back to the bleachers. I figure I can play it off as though I have an extra one.

Upon return, I look up to find Gale Hawthorne in his dirt ridden uniform standing over Katniss. His face is inches apart from her. The Springdale football helmet hangs from his fingers on one hand, while the other effortlessly touches her knee. My heart sinks as I take notice of the flowers and a pizza box that comfortably sits next to her.

Fuck.

"Oh, Peeta, thank you so much!" Glimmer beams at sight of the plastic trays. She grabs them from my hand and passes them down to my brothers and Katie. As I stand in bewilderment, I hear the crunching of chips from nearby. I encourage myself to take a deep breath, despite the way my heart aches. It seems like some undeniable force always takes the wind out of my sail.

* * *

**Present**

I sit in the cafeteria at lunch drinking just plain black coffee. I didn't get much sleep over the weekend. The restaurant has been crazy busy and Delly always has to keep me occupied when I'm not there. The theme lately seems to be chick-flicks. The next time I have to watch a Channing Tatum movie, I swear I will pull my hair out.

Nate sits his lunch tray down next to me. A waft of pepperoni makes my stomach growl. I glance over at the food area and take note of the line that wraps around the room. I don't feel like standing in it just for some pizza, even with my stomach's blatant protests. During this discovery process, I catch Katniss giving me a steely eyed glance from three tables away just before averting her gaze. I raise my eyebrows at this and turn back to Nate.

"Did you see that?"

"Huh?" he responds.

Nate looks back at me, puzzled. He is a guy of few words, so it’s no surprise that he misses things. This has been his nature since middle school.

"Never mind," I assure him. I have to tell myself not to panic and shrug it off. I fleetingly eyeball back again, but her face stays focused directly on her lunch tray. I figure it must be a coincidence and direct my concentration on something else.

I down a bottle of water just to get something in my stomach. I haven't eaten all morning. Unfortunately, the water consumption ignites my bladder. I smack Nate on the shoulder and promise to be back, making my way out of the lunchroom and down the hall. Once I'm almost to the men's room door, something sweeps me off my feet. Before I can figure out what just hit me, I'm lying flat on my back, looking at the ceiling. My ass momentarily feels like it's on fire.

A pair of gray eyes meet mine, looking directly down at me. The sole of a thick, black boot is pressed against my arm.

Holy moses, it's Katniss.

"I don't know if half the shit that goes around this school is true. Normally, I don't care if it is or isn't. But today, in your case, I care."

She walks around me. I'm still trying to register all that is happening, but I'm distracted by the way her jeans fit perfectly over her staggering hips. Her long hair is without a braid today, instead pressed and smooth going down her back. She has little to no make-up on, and this is usually my favorite way to observe her.

Katniss sits down on my stomach and grabs me by the collar of my polo, forcing our eyes to meet. I can hardly pay attention to anything else but the sensation of her on me. My wide blue eyes are entirely preoccupied with looking at her from such a close distance. I'm suddenly conscious of everything. Is my breath okay? Do I have too much cologne on? I'm also far too aware of the way her soft bottom is pressing dangerously close to my pelvis. I'm terribly afraid if this persists that I will grow hard beneath her.

Plus, I still have to pee.

"Let's skip the introductions, shall we? I'm just going to be straightforward with you. If you fuck with my sister, I will kill you."

I begin to protest, but she tightens the grip on my collar. Even with her wanting to kick my ass, this is the longest conversation we have ever had and the closest I've ever been to heaven.

"It's not up for discussion. Keep your swinging dick away from her, or I'll gut you like a fish."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Nothing happened between me and Prim."

"Nothing will happen," she says, letting go of my shirt and lifting her weight off of my stomach. I immediately miss the warmth of her being close and want to say something that will piss her off again. Instead, I slowly bring myself to my feet. I know I need to speak soon before she disappears, so I start talking quickly. Unfortunately, this happens before I can really form a train of thought.

"Katniss, I don't know what you heard, but..." I want to tell her that every other girl has just been someone to take my mind off of her. Or that I wake up every night with her filling my dreams.

"But what?" she replies coldly. She stands icily with her arms crossed, anticipating and waiting for my next words.

"I like Prim a lot, but not like that. Besides, she is really young."

Katniss scoffs, and shifts her body weight to her right. "Sleaze," she mutters under her breath and puts one foot in motion. I dash quickly in front of her, attempting to stall any further movement.

"Wait… that's what you think of me?" I'm kind of panicking. For the last six years I have desperately tried to get her attention in every way possible. She has never even talked to me. Why would she think I'm a creep?

"Oh, come on. That's your M.O. You get girls to like you by acting like their friend; you sleep with them and then never talk to them again. I wasn't born yesterday." The display she is putting on is preposterous. I need to figure out who her source of information is.

"It's not like that," I persist.

"You may be able to pull that nonsense with Prim and whoever else, but it isn't going to work with me. I see right through you, and I'm certainly not going to stand around and let you take advantage of my sister."

"I wouldn't do that," I plead again. My words seem to ricochet off of her. It's like nothing I say will change her mind. Her expression is like stone; stern and still.

"Tell that to some other hopeless girl."

"I offered to give Prim softball lessons, that's it."

"Just stay away from her," Katniss conveys. Her eyes can no longer meet mine, but I don't budge. I want her to understand that I'm not a bad guy. I need her to understand.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm not who you think I am?" Her lips curl up in an uncomfortable smile. Years of watching this same reaction has worked in my behalf. She only smiles like this when she is apprehensive and in doubt.

"The only thing that I care about is you staying away from my sister. We're done," she says while pushing me out of her way. I watch her with my mouth agape as she coolly walks down the hallway. I don't try to stop her this time.

* * *

**2008**

Mental note: Never listen to Cato. Ever.

Cato has been taking Spanish for the last two years; where I, on the other hand, have been procrastinating. We have until our senior year to take one semester of a foreign language, but generally math is my strong suit. Writing a paper in English is bad enough as it is, let alone trying to do it in Spanish.

Anyways, our very attractive Spanish teacher, Ms. Gilchrist, usually stands in the hallway every morning saying "hola" to all the students. I fleetingly mention to Cato that I should learn how to tell her 'you look beautiful today' in Spanish, and he deems this to be a brilliant idea.

Not so much.

Mistake number one: allowing Cato to allegedly teach me how to say anything in Spanish.

Mistake number two: Not realizing that ‘chi-chi' doesn't even remotely sound like 'bonita.'

Mistake number three: Telling Ms. Gilchrist, 'Good morning. Your boobs are huge.'

And that brings me to where I am today – the principal's office. Total sabotage.

I keep shaking my head, thinking that Mitch and Jovi will probably think this is hilarious. All of that washes away, however, when I imagine the look on my mother's face that will be waiting for me when I get home.

I'm planted in a small plastic chair next to Principal Crane's secretary. His office has soundproof glass windows that allow voyeurs to see all. His door is wide open, but his office remains empty. I wait patiently for another twenty minutes, tapping my feet and drumming my knees softly.

Down from the long corridor, I take sight of Katniss. Her face is a blotchy red and her head hangs low. An agreeable, elegant, middle aged woman follows suit next to her, holding a little girl's hand. They are both blessed with blonde hair and blue eyes. And even though the two of them are the splitting image of one another, you can see the resemblance in Katniss as well. She carries the older woman's cheeks and frame.

As they walk, an overwhelming sense of sadness is apparent. I'm glued to the scene as they enter Crane's office. He holds the door open in a gentlemanly fashion and gently closes it behind him. I can only observe from a distance as Katniss takes a seat and lets out a deep breath of air.

There is something strong about her presence. While the other people in the room are breaking down around her and shedding tears, she is stoic as ever. It isn't apathy, either. You can see the hurt in her eyes. It's more of a mental toughness she beholds, an uncanny ability to remain pragmatic even under duress.

The small blonde girl wraps her arms around Katniss and weeps in her lap. This is what appears to break down her temperament. I see a momentary quiver in her lip, but she otherwise stays aloof. It dawns on me that this must be her little sister. Her protective demeanor explains everything.

I want nothing more than to press my ear against that office door. I desire to wrap Katniss in my arms and tell her it's okay to have a moment of weakness; that she can cry in my arms.

When Katniss leaves with her family that day, I don't see her again for the rest of the week. After a few days, I inquire from others what had happened. Delly ends up having the answers I'm looking for.

"There was a fire at the welding plant. Her Dad died..."

My heart sinks once I learn this. I wish I could be the one comforting her and stroking her hair.

Since I can't do these things, I do the next best thing I can. The following week on Monday morning, I walk to Honest Abe's before school and bake two dozen peanut butter cookies. I wrap them in silk netting with purple ribbon. I pick flowers from my mother's garden and tie them with the same fabric.

I revert back to two years ago, where I was found in a similar predicament. I’ve learned from my previous mistakes, however. I know that Katniss is basically unapproachable, so there’s no need to try to explain myself.

I lean the bag and flowers against her locker this time. Just before walking away, I pull out a piece of paper and pen.

I could be there for you, if you let me...

I fold the sheet of paper and stuff it in the flowers before walking to first period.

* * *

**Present**

Under normal circumstances, I would not spend four dollars on weak coffee, but today is not necessarily normal.

My shift starts in two hours, so I have plenty of time. I'm probably not going to make the best impression in my referee-looking chef pants, but it makes my coming and going seem random as opposed to creepy and planned out.

The smell of syrups and coffee fills my nostrils. I look over at the counter in search of her. I don't see her at first, so I stop and pretend to gaze at the pastries. I think of how my father would be laughing if he knew what I was doing right now. On many occasions, I have belittled Starbucks in an excessive, histrionic fashion. I've especially bashed their baked goods, which from my perspective are overpriced and over-sweetened.

When it seems as though I have lingered like an idiot long enough, I get in line behind a few other patrons. It's at that moment when I spot her near the carafes, pumping syrups and mixing steaming beverages. Her hair is up in a bun and the green apron draped over her is far too big. Even now, I still find her to be ridiculously beautiful.

"May I take your order?" A short and stout woman asks, snapping me out of my daydream.

As I begin to open my mouth to ask for a plain black coffee, it dawns on me that my order will take two whole seconds to pour. This may lead to me not even getting the opportunity to see Katniss. I think for a moment and dream up something complicated.

"Um...I'll take a tall, skinny caramel mocha with two extra pumps of caramel. I want it with extra foam, but in a large cup. I would also like an extra shot of espresso in it."

The woman behind the register keeps an even keeled face and I almost wonder if it isn't complicated enough. She is probably used to dealing with this nonsense all day. I try to hide the smile escaping my lips, but it's no use. I will never in a million years drink the concoction I just ordered that's meant to be coffee, but if it gives me a few extra moments with Katniss, I'll pay the six bucks for it.

When I move down the line over to where she is, Katniss doesn't even notice me. I stand there for a few moments, trying my best not to stare. Finally, she gets my order and I discover her rolling eyes. She glances in my vicinity, probably curious to find out who is responsible for such idiocy. Her pupils widen at the detection of my presence, and I just give a soft smile and wave.

She shakes her head in disgust and quickly works on making my drink. I've had what I should say planned out in my head for the last five days, but at this moment, I'm numb. My throat is bone dry and my airway feels constricted.

I try to fight through it anyway. I lean against the counter near her.

"I, uh, like your apron." Really? That's all I can come up with?

"Thanks," she says in a sarcastic manner. Small talk is usually my strong suit, but this isn't just any girl. This is Katniss, and she is pretty intimidating. The scowl on her face certainly isn't making it any easier to talk to her.

I should still be able to conjure up something better than, 'I like your ugly, green, Starbucks apron.'

I try to think fast because her hands are moving rapidly.

"Do you, um...normally just work the weekends?"

She never takes her eyes off the task in front of her and answers with a monotone voice.

"I work when I'm scheduled."

I nod my head at this before responding. "Do you have to get up really early? Seems like you would…" After I ask this, she glares over at me with an almost stupefied expression.

"Five AM. Anything else you need today?" She slams the coffee down on the counter I'm leaning against.

I figure it's now or never. Either I'm gonna do it, or I need to give up. My mouth opens, but no words come out. She impatiently waits for my response. I try to focus, but my stomach is moving in tidal wives and my hands are incredibly shaky…

Spit it out, Mellark. Just be cool. She's just a girl. You've seen millions of them...

"Just for you not to think I'm a jerk," I spill. She looks up at me, a little abashed. I suddenly fear her response.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up." The words roll so easily off her tongue and a sinking feeling washes over me. I want to change her perception in a profound way.

"I'm not as bad as you think. Maybe you could try to get to know me," I say a little too hopefully, and more as a question. I pray that I don't seem too forthcoming.

The grimace she is producing in response is something hideous; I'm concerned her face will freeze in this state.

"I don't want to know you." Her voice is dripping with disdain while she continues to work at a steady pace.

I uncomfortably chuckle. "Apparently, you think you already do."

She looks at me warily. I expect a response, but get nothing. She hands someone next to me a drink and smiles, telling them to have a nice day.

"I have to get back to work," she conveys bleakly. I look over and see there are no more customers, but don't argue.

"Okay," I reply with a weak smile. "Thanks for the coffee."

As I begin to make my way out the door, a familiar descending sensation ripples through me. I miss her angry scowl already.


	3. Chapter 3

**2008**

I miss regular old chalkboards. There is a familiar feel to them and something comforting about the dust trail they leave behind. For whatever reason, dry erase boards don't quite give me that same sense of security. Everything is just...wiped away.

As Mr. Mills goes over the French Revolution, my eyes keep moving across to Katniss. Her head is being cushioned by her arms, which are splayed across the desk. Her long brown hair cascades everywhere. She’s been in this same lifeless position for the last fifteen minutes of class. To her defense, it's only second period.

Out of my peripheral vision, I notice hands across the room are raised high. Mr. Mills must have asked a question during my Katniss-captivated state. My heart stirs with hope that he doesn't prompt me for an answer.

Instead, he walks slowly down an aisle of desks. His glasses sit comfortably at the end of his nose and a dry erase marker lingers in his right hand. He makes his way to Katniss, who remains in slumber.

The marker bangs curtly on the wooden top of the desk. Katniss erupts from her inertia and hazily looks around the room. All eyes are doting on her with a few occasional snickers from classmates. Her pupils are red and heavy shadows are displayed under her lids.

"Katniss, what do you think about some people calling Robespierre 'the incorruptible?' Do you find this to be true?" Mills looks down at her and Katniss' expression becomes frustrated and a bit perplexed.

"Um..." Her gaze is one of disconcert.

I panic because I know she doesn't have the slightest clue. For the last few weeks, she has been sleeping through this class every day, if she comes at all. Professor Mills doesn't normally single people out like this, so I know she has rattled him as well.

I attempt to do damage control.

"No, he wasn't," I blurt quickly. All eyes in the room now revert to me, including Katniss'. Mr. Mills goes to speak, but I cut him off quickly.

"Robespierre's original views of the revolution were to end tyranny, but he then started a policy to execute those who were even under suspicion of being anti-revolutionary. So, in the end, he became everything he was trying to stop."

Mr. Mills nods his head and shoots me an angry glare. "Thank you, Peeta. Does anyone else have something they would like to add?" He glares back down at Katniss, but she looks away.

Ten minutes later, the bell rings and Mills asks to see both Katniss and I. We remain in our seats until everyone else clears out. I'm a bit more unsettled in comparison to her cool, collected demeanor. He ends up calling me to his desk first, and I when I stand next to him, I find that I'm jittery.

Mills’ gray hair shimmers from his seat. The white button-up he wears contains a small spot with what looks to be eggs from his breakfast. When he begins talking in a quiet voice so that Katniss can't hear, I almost don't make out what he says.

"Mr. Mellark, I know that you understand the course material. You are very bright young man. However, you cannot defy me like that again when I'm trying to get through to another student. I was calling on her, not you. Understand?"

I nod my head at him to primarily keep the peace, but I'm pissed. He wasn't doing Katniss any favors by embarrassing and putting her on the spot.

"Have a good day," he says. I go to grab my bag from my desk and he signals for Katniss. But when I get to the door, curiosity gets the best of me. The wood entrance is propped wide open. I wind up standing on the other side of it, eavesdropping on their conversation.

"Look, I won't fall asleep again. I'm sorry," Katniss explains.

"Katniss, I know you've been through a lot. But I've given you weeks to get it together. Your grades are suffering, and you failed the last exam. We have another one on Monday. If you don't get at least a seventy five percent, you're not going to pass. This class is a graduation requirement and I don't want you to have to take it over. You shouldn't be failing classes during your freshman year. It's only going to make things harder for you."

After that, they begin talking in a lower volume. I can't make out what is said, but I get the gist of it from what I could hear. I prop my Pirates bag over my shoulder and make my way to third period, deep in thought.

When I get home that night, I find Jovi on the computer watching YouTube videos. I begin to protest immediately.

"Come on, I have school stuff to finish. You're just watching Rihanna half-naked."

After a half hour of coaxing and threatening to grab Mom, he moves aside. I pull out the last three months of history notes and start to contemplate how I'm going to do this. Everything is hand written, but I don't want to just make copies. This needs to be ambiguous.

After three hours of efforts, I concoct a series of notes. I separate them by chapters and make sure to highlight key points. I even try to add funny messages to help her remember things that are significant.

When I'm done typing up the last of it, I click the print button, but find that I get no results. The screen blinks a message - Please refill printer paper.

Fuck. I search the whole desk before checking the utility closet. I ask Jovi and Mitch if they've seen paper anywhere. Dad is at the restaurant, and Mom isn't going to take me to the office supply store this late. I need to print these notes for Katniss by tomorrow. It's Friday by then and the test is on Monday. I try to remember if the computer lab will be open before school tomorrow, but I don't think it is.

I opt to look in the basement. Dad sometimes has random stuff stored down there, along with an office where he does the majority of the restaurant bookkeeping.

I rummage through a bunch of boxes, but don't find much. I laugh, however, when I stumble across a box full of Playboy's from the eighties.

Finally, near my dad's desk, I find a few large stacks of paper. I recognize the thick leaflets because of the border around them. There is an 'M' on the top right hand corner. These are the old sheets we used to use to print menus out at the restaurant. It was called ‘Mellark's’ at that time. It was only two years ago that my Dad changed it to "Honest Abe's." He said naming a restaurant after yourself is too arrogant.

I end up saying screw it, grabbing a stack of the paper and tossing it in the printer tray. Ten minutes later, sixty pages of notes are ready to go. I put them in a folder and set them on my Pirates bag for the morning.

The following day, I arrive to school early again. I'm starting to feel very stalker-esque. I tell myself that this is the last time I'm putting stuff in her locker. But when I go to put the folder in there, I realize it's not going to fit in the small vents. I end up writing KATNISS in big block letters and leaning it against the green metal, hoping that nobody kicks it or does something idiotic.

The rest is in her hands.

* * *

**Present**

I rub the 'crusties' as I like to call them, out of my eyes and take a swig of the black coffee in my mug. I smile a little bit as I look out of the Tahoe and up at the Starbucks logo. I'm the only person who brings coffee to buy 'coffee'. I watch an older woman exit the shop carrying a tray of plastic cups. I sigh with relief. At least I'm not the only one crazy enough to be up at seven in the morning on a Sunday.

I don't have to work today, so I'm in normal clothes. I took the day off because my brothers and I are going to the Pirates game in Pittsburgh. We haven't been to one yet this year, and it's usually a tradition that the three of us do together.

My nose takes in the smell of sweeteners and such that I would never get used to, even if I worked here on a daily basis. When I near the counter, I see Katniss again for the second time in two days. Her hair is disheveled and her apron dirty. She honestly looks like she just rolled out of bed.

When she notices me, she nearly rolls her eyes, but remembers that I am a paying customer. Instead, I am greeted with a fake smile and asked in a not-so-friendly manner if there is anything she can help me with.

Since she is working the register today, I can really prolong this. There is also no one else in the store, except another employee who looks to be doing something in the back. I decide to make the most of this and be as time-consuming as possible.

"Yes," I reply with a huge grin. "What’s in your muffins?"

Her gray eyes almost look misty this morning. She brings them to mine with a mesmerizing flicker.

"Banana and blueberry," she says, pointing at the sign which says the same exact thing.

"Like, what's in them, though? How are they prepared?" My smile won't fade, even if I try. Not that I would.

"What do you mean, in them? I'm guessing bananas and blueberries. They are prepared like any other muffin is prepared." She looks at me as though I'm stuck on stupid.

"What about the scones?" I'm holding back my laughter and keeping a straight face, but her expression begins to look irritable. I'm sure it's far too early in the morning for her to be dealing with this. At least now I know she will remember me, even if I'm just the asshole who is trying to screw her sister and asks a million questions when ordering food.

"We have blueberry and orange."

"What's in them?"

"I honestly don't know. Blueberry and orange? I'm not the one who makes them," she replies dryly.

"Well, what do you make?"

"Coffee."

"What kind of coffee do you use?"

She rolls her eyes before answering. "Blonde roast, medium roast and dark roast."

"Is it fresh?" I ask.

"What do you think?"

"Is that a yes?"

"It's basically all we serve. It's always fresh."

I begin to look at the pastries again, contemplating on what else I can ask without driving her crazy. I choose to look up at the drink menu, and put my hand on my chin as if I'm really indecisive.

"Are you going to order?" she asks bluntly.

"Any recommendations?" I inquire.

"Coffee," she spits.

"Well, that's helpful."

I browse again and inquire about the flavored drinks. I ask for a sample of two of them. Fifteen minutes later, I still haven't ordered. She is looking at me with fury.

"Do you normally wake up early on Sunday mornings and go to coffee shops just to drive people crazy?"

"Actually, no. On Sunday mornings, I'm normally at my Dad's restaurant working by this time."

She doesn't say anything to this momentarily and then curiously asks, "You cook there?"

I nod.

"What kind of food do they serve?"

"The good kind," I reply with a smile. She returns the grin as well and this warms my heart. I feel her barriers breaking down. She can't hate me forever.

"Why aren't you there today?" she asks apprehensively, but seems genuinely interested.

I'm basically beaming that she is showing curiosity about my life. I can't help but think about how I could get used to this. I just need to get her to actually like me.

"Because my brothers and I are going to the North Shore in a few hours. We have tickets to go see the Pirates."

"Why am I not surprised?"

I laugh at the seriousness of her face when she says this. "I don't know, why aren't you?"

"Because you're Peeta Mellark - the Baseball God of Springdale High."

I laugh again. "See, this is what I've been trying to tell you. You don't have me figured out like you think you do. My brothers and I used to go to games every year with our grandfather before he died. Since then, just the three of us go once a year. He had season tickets for twenty years. We sit in the same seats he had."

"Ah," she says uncomfortably. I keep catching glimpses of a different side of her that I haven't encountered yet. I'm elated because I feel that I've caused this other part of her to shine.

Just then, the front door bell dings and a younger girl gets in line behind me. Katniss takes this into account and the grimace returns. Damn it all to hell.

"So, are you going to actually order?" Katniss inquires impatiently.

"Just make me three of your favorite drinks and pastries." So much for the different side of her.

She audibly scoffs and begins making the beverages. I move across to the pick-up counter, feeling brazen.

"When do you work next?" I ask, leaning over the counter and watching her. I ignore that beautiful scowl that she so often wears.

"Um... tomorrow afternoon," she replies hesitantly. "Why?"

"I just thought maybe I could bring you some food from the restaurant. You know, the good kind."

I smile when I say this, hoping she will return it again, but she remains even keeled and silent. She grabs a foam tray carrier and sets the drinks in them. My heart sinks knowing that I will be leaving momentarily, especially after I finally peeled back one of her layers.

After she wraps up three peanut butter bars and bags them, I smile a little bit. It's not just with cookies, I think.

When I go to hand her the money, our fingers touch momentarily. She seemingly doesn't notice, but the electricity coursing through my veins is all I can think about. I almost don't hold out my hand for the change she attempts to give me. I do, however, observe her deliberate effort not to secure eye contact.

Before I leave, I attempt to make our eyes meet again. She is so stubborn.

"Bye, Katniss. Thanks."

She gives me a half-hearted smile and wave before helping another customer. When I get to my truck, I have to pause momentarily. My heart is beating so loud, I can't hear anything else. I take a swig of the coffee she made for me and taste a familiar spice to it.

Pumpkin.

* * *

**2009**

The band and choir room are directly across the hall from the gymnasium and art studio. I'm not sure why the school designed it like that, but it is what it is. Every time I have to pee during a class down this hallway, I end up waiting like five minutes because it's all in the same corridor. With the class sizes of these particular groups, the set up doesn't make sense to me.

I drink a whole bottle of gatorade rapidly during weight training and wind up needing to use the restroom. I attempt to dry off my sweat ridden hair before making my way down the hallway. Of course, the men's bathroom has a line. I lean against the wall, crossing my legs so I don't piss myself. That's when I see the cloud of smoke forming outside the ladies bathroom entrance.

The door flings open and Johanna Mason comes pouring out, along with a thick cloud of tobacco and marijuana smoke. Katniss follows behind her, laughing and giggling incessantly. Johanna's eyes size me up and down in my mesh shorts and tank top, sweat still dripping off my forehead.

"Lookin' good, Mellark," she chimes while winking at me. Katniss bends over in laughter immediately. When Johanna hits the light, I catch glimpse of her rapid dilating pupils. But I'm far more concerned about Katniss' state. I just saw her come out of Principal Crane's office two days prior, looking to be in a heap of trouble. At this moment, she is just as stoned as Johanna.

I blush from her comment, but don't dare say anything with Katniss standing right there. The smell from the weed is really starting to linger in the air and Ms. Trinket's class is only a few feet away.

The handle of her classroom door jiggles and Katniss and Johanna bolt quickly out of sight. When Trinket comes into the corridor she takes in the odor, and gives me a questioning glance.

"What's going on?" she asks. Her elaborate make-up and small frame make her look awkward.

"Nothing," I reply hesitantly.

"Doesn't smell like nothing," she hisses.

I don't even attempt to make an excuse. It's not like she will listen anyways, unless I tell the truth, which I won't.

I end up getting toted down to Principal Crane's office, where I'm suspended for a week. I also cannot participate in the state quarterfinal baseball game. That night when my mom finds out, she repeatedly hits me in the face with a rolling pin.

Upon returning to school a week later, my eye is still purple and blue. Delly and I finally cross paths at lunch, and she immediately starts asking a million questions.

"Peeta, what the hell?" She slams down her tray next to me.

I put my hand up, initiating that I need her to calm down.

"Delly, you're here. I need you here," I say, bringing my hand down lower. She is yelling and my head is throbbing.

"Peeta, I've been worried sick. I called your house like, a thousand times."

"I'm not allowed to use the phone right now," I say solemnly.

She sizes up my eye. "What the fuck happened to you?" she asks frantically.

"I got suspended. As you can see, my mom wasn't thrilled."

She starts shaking her head. "Your mom is an evil twat. Wait, why were you suspended?"

"For using an illegal substance on school property," I quietly say with my hanging down.

"Peet, we have been friends since...I don't know, birth? You hate drugs."

"It wasn't mine," I add. I move the food around on my tray, but I have no appetite.

She finishes chewing a mouth full of sloppy joe before talking. For someone as skinny as Delly, she sure puts away the food.

"Okay. Who did you take the blame for? Cato?"

I can barely spit the words out of my mouth. I know what her reaction will be. For that reason alone, I wait until she takes a swig of chocolate milk to respond.

"Katniss and Johanna."

She chokes on the milk as I tell her. It ends up going down the front of her shirt and she spits it out everywhere.

"Holy shit, Peeta. Are you insane? Katniss Everdeen's vagina is not golden! She isn't worth it! You're being watched right now by scouts all over the country. You're going to wind up with a scholarship to go basically anywhere you want. This may have messed up all that. What the hell?"

I don't say anything. I expected this. If anything, I probably need to hear it.

"I know, I know. Trust me, I've heard it."

* * *

**Present**

A smile escapes my lips when I hit my alarm clock at early in the morning. It's Monday.

I shake off the sleepiness and head over to the restaurant. I steal a box full of chicken marsala and mashed potatoes for later today. For dessert, I wind up putting together a cream cheese pumpkin roll and six peanut butter cupcakes with buttercream frosting.

I arrive at Starbucks around 4:45 just to be safe. I'm glad I do, because just as I'm walking to the door, I see her scurrying out the back door.

"Katniss!"

She catches sight of me and begins to quickly travel across the parking lot. I rapidly dart over to her with both boxes of food in hand. She stops in front of an old Ford escort and shakily fumbles with her keys.

"Hey. This may sound crazy, but it seems like you're running from me."

Her hands are trembling as she looks up at me. The keys she continues to fumble with fall to the ground near my foot, and my hands plunge down rapidly to pick them up before she can.

"Um, no. I have a family emergency today, and work told me I could leave." Her eyes keep peering to the right and her feet are rocking. Her overall demeanor gives off that she is lying.

"Oh," I say. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just need to get home." My heart sinks. Why is she doing this?

I sigh in a dejected manner before going on. "Katniss, you don't have to lie to me. If you don't want to see me around, just tell me."

She then sighs in the same way I just did. I get the feeling that she doesn't really like talking about anything concerning feelings, let alone acknowledging them.

"Look, it's just a little weird." I feel a pang of hurt as she says this.

"What did I do?" I ask quickly.

"I don't know you. I mean, I know who you are, but I don't know you," she explains, using her hands dramatically. Her hair flows freely in the wind. It takes all my strength not to reach out and run my fingers through it.

"Well, isn't that the point?" I ask in an obvious manner.

"I never said I wanted to get to know you." My heart breaks at this.

"Why is it so important for you to hate me?" I ask frustratedly.

"Why is it so important to you that I don't hate you?" she fires back. I am quickly learning that Katniss is feisty, and she doesn't like to be wrong.

"You have this idea in your head that I'm a dick. Why would I want you to think that I'm some jerk who wants to sleep with your fourteen year old sister?" There is a tension rising in me that I can't quite hold back. I need to let it out.

"Because you have a guilty conscience?" she asks.

"Again, I will tell you. I am not in any way, shape or form romantically interested in Prim," I assert.

"So, what is it that has you so interested?"

"I want to get to know you."

"Ohhhh, so it's me that you want to sleep with. Let me save you some time. Go to hell," she says forcefully while tugging on the driver’s side door handle.

I immediately push the door closed with my free hand and look her directly in the eyes. "Is it so hard for you to believe that I may actually just want to get to know you?"

"Yes," she fires back offensively. Her gray eyes are dark tunnels today. I almost get lost in them.

I slam the boxes of food I brought for her down on the trunk in anger. I almost hope it's all smashed now.

"I brought this for you. Not that it matters," I say bitterly before turning around. My chest has a feeling of emptiness.

I make sure that I don't look back. I'm afraid if I do, my heart won't be able to mend.


	4. Chapter 4

**2010**

"Peet, come on. She really likes you," Delly grumbles. I push her a little harder on the swing and watch her soar through the air.

"No, especially because she is your good friend," I argue. As she comes down, she digs her heels into the sand, slowing the swing down until it comes to a halt. Once at a complete stop, she shoots me a frustrated glance.

"In two years, we’re going to graduate and you're not even going to try to have a girlfriend. What are you going to do once we go to college?"

I shrug. It really doesn't matter to me. No one else compares to Katniss, so it's not worth my time. Delly throws her hands up in the air, indicating that she is giving up.

"You’re a lost cause," she moans. I walk over to the merry-go-round, and I hear the crunching of the leaves under her following footsteps. Delly positions herself in the middle and grabs a tight hold. I get a running start and bring the handle along with me. Once it picks up momentum, I jump on as well and lay flat on my back, watching the world spin.

We momentarily sit in silence until the whirlwind subsides. Seconds later, Delly makes her way into my view.

"Peet, please, just this once. I won't be mad if it doesn't work out." Her expression reads one of concern, and my heart sinks. She totally knows how to play on my emotions. I desperately want to point out that she is being manipulative, but can't figure out a way to do it without being too crass.

I sit up and immediately feel faint. I must have moved too quickly. I grab a hold of the bar until I regain my composure.

"It's not like you have to take her somewhere fancy. Try a movie or something," Delly suggests.

I shake my head softly with a smile. I know I'm going to have to do this. I'll never hear the end of it otherwise.

"What's the worst that can happen? You don't like her? At least you can say you tried," she points out.

"Yeah, and then I break her heart. Which in turn will piss her off, and you as well. In the end, I'm the world’s biggest asshole," I mutter.

"No, you're an asshole when you act like an emotional cripple and sleep with girls you don't care about. Taking someone out on a real date and seeing what she is actually like...that's non-asshole territory."

Delly's attempt at being reassuring isn't helping me any. I still feel like asking girls out is worse. Random sex doesn't lead people on or give them a false sense of hope. Repeatedly going on dates and getting to know one another...that seems like it's the most misleading.

"How do you even know that Katniss is the 'end all, be all?' You haven't even really tried dating someone else." That point, I can give Delly. I stop refraining because I feel myself succumbing, mainly because I don't want to talk about it anymore.

"Okay, okay. I'll do it. Tell her I'll pick her up Saturday night. Just remember, if this ends badly, you have no right to be mad at me."

She throws her arms around me fleetingly. I nearly topple over, but I'm saved from the bars on the merry go round.

"She is going to make you forget all about that damn Everdeen girl."

* * *

**Present**

I lay flat on my back, looking up at the stars. This time, it's Delly pushing me on the merry-go -round. Once she jumps on, I pass her along the bottle of Sprite. It's lost most of its fizz due to the pucker ratio the liquid contains. I watch as she takes a small gulp before placing herself close to me. The top of our heads just barely touch from opposite sides, and together we silently gaze into the night.

I would give anything not to feel right at this moment. It's like part of me is missing, and I don't know what can replace it. Delly is always insisting that there are other girls, and if given half a chance, I may like some of them. But then my mind goes back to Katniss, and no one else seems as vivid and colorful.

She has done irreparable damage. How can I ever give my heart to another when it so clearly yearns for her?

Delly must know what I'm thinking, because she starts offering her gracious advice.

"It will be a lot easier to get over her when you accept that she doesn't feel the same. You have to move on, Peet," she explains. "It's time to give someone else a chance. You're an awesome guy, but you've got to let other people see that."

A single tear forms in the corner of my eye and runs down my left cheek. I quickly wipe it away before she can see it.

"Where did I go wrong?" I ask warily.

"Six years ago, when you started listening to Wild Horses over and over again. I swear, for like two months, I thought you might be gay." I can't see her, but I sense a grin across her face and one of my own escapes.

"Whatever. Do I need to remind you of eighth grade? When you thought you were in love with Marvel?"

"What can I say? The guy knew how to rock a faux-hawk."

I laugh heartily and shake my head at her. "Yeah, and he wore his pants ten inches below his waistline. I saw every pair of boxers that kid owns."

"Don't judge me. I was smitten."

I sit up again, taking possession of the bottle. As I open the lid, I let the smell of sweet alcohol fill the air. A deep sigh of comfort departs from my lips after guzzling the sugary drink.

"You know, there is a party Friday night we could go to," Delly chimes.

I look over at her curiously. "Who's party?"

"Rory Hawthorne's," she replies with a hopeful grin. My face immediately grows rigid and I abandon any idea of going to this event.

"Oh, come on! Rory is cool. He's not a tool like his brother."

My face squints. "I don't know...what if she's there?"

"When have you ever seen Katniss at a party?" My lower lip juts out as I'm deep in thought. I don't think I have ever seen her at a party, come to think of it.

"Just because we've never seen her at one before doesn't mean she won't be there."

"It's free entertainment. Don't think of it for any other purpose than that."

"What do I get out of this?" I ask jokingly.

"My company and free therapy. You're lucky I'm not Dr. Phil. You would be filing bankruptcy," she declares.

"Who else is going?" I have a feeling the invitation to this party isn't random. Delly almost always has ulterior motives.

"Cato, Nate, Madge..."

"Madge? Delly! She hates me," I convey.

"No, she doesn't," Delly asserts. "She always asks about you."

"Whatever. Now I'm definitely not going."

"Just accept it; you're going. In the end, I always win." Her grin almost looks evil.

I give her a stern look. "Delly, I'm not going."

"Okay," she says wryly. Her expression tells me that she doesn't believe me.

I kick myself for being so easily persuaded.

* * *

**2010**

I take Delly's advice and opt for dinner and a movie. Nothing elaborate, just simple and easy. My Dad lets me borrow his truck for the night and I make an effort to look presentable. I find a nice fitting pair of jeans and a button up shirt to finish my ensemble. I even get a haircut to control the blonde curls that threaten to cover my eyes.

I've never met Madge before, but Delly has been trying to set us up for months. I'm not sure how she and Delly actually know one another, only that Madge lives near the North Shore in the wealthier part of Pittsburgh. Her father is heavy into politics and is a district attorney.

I pull up in front of her three story house and nearly do a double take. It's not majestic like Finnick’s home, but elegant and well-manicured. The front porch is really the highlight of the home, with stone pillars and a swing that hangs. I even take notice of the patterned cement trail that leads to the front door. When I arrive there, I find that I'm almost nervous to knock, a little intimidated by my surroundings.

A very attractive young female greets me on the other side of the entrance. Her long blonde hair curls down the back of her form fitting purple sweater. I take notice of the perfectly shaped eyebrows that sit above a pair of sea blue eyes. The smile she gives is genuine and enthusiastic, and only enhances her flawless teeth. Her hips are shapely under her denim jeans, which are just tight enough to let my imagination wander. My eyes can't help but roam hungrily to her ample breasts; a young man such as myself only has so much willpower.

"Are you Peeta?" she asks as I stand at the door, gawking. I close my mouth that has been agape for God knows how long. I feel the urge to smack myself in the forehead for being fatuous.

"Um, yeah. Sorry. Are you Madge?"

"Yes. Do you mind coming in for a sec? I just need another minute," she pleads. I nod and tell her it's no problem. She leads me in past the foyer and I immediately feel small. The inside of the house is just as breathtaking as the outside, with high ceilings and large windows. Again, I compare and contrast it to Finnick’s, mainly because that's really the only other home I've ever been in that comes close. Unlike his house, though, I'm getting a sense of old money. This one is far more refined.

Madge leads to me into the kitchen, to what looks to be an island table and pulls out a chair. She promises to be quick, and I just take in my new environment.

When she comes down minutes later, she looks exactly the same to me. The only difference that I can pinpoint is the waft of lavender coming off of her.

"Sorry. I'm ready," she states.

When we arrive at Honest Abe's, I get a few smirks from my co-workers. One even shoots me a thumbs up of approval while Madge isn't looking. I turn about three shades of red and hope that she doesn't catch on to what's going on.

Upon arrival to our table, I pull her chair out in a gentlemanly fashion. Her cheeks redden slightly from this, allowing me to notice particular features on her face that I hadn't prior. There’s a small line of freckles that travel down her nose, almost amplifying her light skin. The plumpness of her lips is intriguing and something I had easily overlooked before. Suddenly, I feel warmth growing in my belly, and this snaps me back to reality.

She holds a menu in her hands and brings the tip of her finger back to those lips. Her demeanor also doesn't strike me of someone as physically attractive as she is. There is a humbleness that radiates from her.

"This place is really nice. Thanks for bringing me here," Madge expresses. I quickly avert my eyes, trying to not make it so obvious that I've been staring at her.

"No worries. This is actually my Dad's restaurant," I explain.

She nods her head in understanding. "Delly told me that your Dad owns a restaurant."

"Yeah. It's been a part of my family since I was born."

"So, you work here?"

"Did Delly tell you that, too?"

"No," Madge says with a smile, chuckling a little. "I saw that waiter over there giving you the thumbs up."

I put my hand over my face, trying to cover my embarrassment, but still laughing.

"I wasn't supposed to see that, I guess," she says, red-faced and laughing lightly. I shake my head in response, still bursting with amusement.

Once we regain our composure, she restarts the conversation. "So, what do you do here, Peeta?"

"I'm a sous chef." Her eyes fill will wonder after my response.

"Soup chef?"

I laugh again. "Sous chef. It means I work under the executive chef, which used to be my Dad. He semi -retired two years ago, and hired another guy to take over."

"Oh. Well, do you like it? Working here, I mean?" I like that Madge makes a lot of eye contact. It feels more like a real conversation, rather than her trying too hard to make small talk.

"I love it. I always have. It's my dream to take it over one day."

Her eyes become serious and focus on me. "Well, why don't you?"

"My parents want me to play baseball," I explain.

"Well, what do you want to do?" I ruminate on this for a moment. Nobody has ever asked me such a question before.

"I don't know, really. You?"

"I've been considering going to NYU and studying law."

We continue on like this for what seems like hours, only being stopped to order food and eat. I hardly even notice after ten that we've missed our movie. I bring it up to Madge, and she just shrugs her shoulders. "I guess you'll have to take me tomorrow," she responds.

We embark on our journey back to her house, and my stomach flutters a little as we pull into her driveway. I run to open her passenger side door, which she again seems perplexed by. Our steps to the front porch are quiet and slow. When we reach our destination, my mouth opens to speak, but she crushes her lips to mine so quickly that my thoughts are instantly diminished.

With her so close to me, I can easily detect that the lavender odor is coming from her hair. The way her fingers graze the back of my neck is tedious and flirtatious, but her lips feel exactly the way I expected them to...warm, smooth and wanting. I become so captivated by them that I almost don't notice when her tongue begins to entice mine. I gently suck on it and she lets out the slightest whimper. Immediately, I feel myself begin to stiffen. Oddly enough, this helps bring me back to reality and I pull away. Her face has lost some of its color, but her lips are a swollen cherry red.

"Tomorrow?" I ask with a smile.

"Tomorrow," she beams.

* * *

**Present**

Delly is a liar. Rory Hawthorne is just as big of a prick as Gale. Earlier, he just happened to 'accidentally' shove me into the pool in their backyard. Now, my clothes are wrinkled and I smell like chlorine.

I open up the ice-chest and find nothing but bottles of Smirnoff and cheap vodka. I scoff, thinking that I must’ve drank the last of the bottled water an hour prior. If I wasn't worried about how Delly would get home, I would leave right now. I know she has been drinking, however, and the thought of leaving her in someone else's hands doesn't sit right with me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Prim walking towards me. She has a glass bottle of malt liquor in her hands and takes small swigs on her way over.

"Hey, Peeta," she chimes.

"Hey, what's up?" I look over at her small frame. She is wearing the slightest amount of clothing that will draw the maximum amount of attention.

"Nothing. Just hanging out. I didn't expect to see you here," she adds.

I laugh at this a little. "I didn't either."

"So, how's baseball?"

"It's good. Almost over..." I begin walking over to a set of lawn chairs near the pool. The sun earlier today was warm, but with it being so late now, a breeze has begun to take over.

"Have you heard from any scouts yet?"

I nod my head as she plops in the chair next to me. "A few. I don't want to go far, though. I want to be close to home."

"Who have you been talking to?" I squint my eyes, indicating that I'm trying to remember.

"Um...Ole Miss, Florida and Michigan State."

Prim curls her lips and makes a face. "Nowhere close, eh?" I shake my head.

"It's not over yet. Maybe someone will talk to you from NYU or Penn State or something."

I chuckle softly. "It's cool. If it happens, it happens."

"Katniss got something in the mail today from Julliard," Prim divulges.

My ears come to a full attention and I look over at her wide eyed. "Julliard? I heard it's impossible to get in there," I respond.

Prim shrugs and takes a drink of her Smirnoff. "Not when you're Katniss," she says with a hint of jealousy.

"Did she get in?" I ask with a burning curiosity.

"I'm not sure. She was at work when it came." Prim's eyes roam me up and down in an uncomfortable manner. I try to consider this a flattering gesture, but it kind of puts me off.

"Well, I hope it works out for her. Will you miss her if she's gone?" I almost let 'I will' slip nonchalantly, but I catch myself.

"Yes and no. I love Katniss, but she is overbearing. My Mom isn't really home much though, and she looks out for me. It's a catch twenty-two."

As Prim says this, Rory Hawthorne slips his arm around her shoulder. He is wearing only swimming trunks and sandals while water drips from his hair. I laugh slightly to myself, because Rory really has no business walking around without a shirt. His frame is nothing compared to Gale’s, which admittedly, is robust. Rory, on the other hand, is extremely thin and scrawny, but apparently thinks that he is Hercules.

"Hey, come swim with me," Rory encourages Prim. He is gazing at her with enamored eyes. I recognize this look; it's the same way I've been eyeing Katniss for the last six years.

"I'm talking with Peeta. Maybe in a little while," she responds. Rory's face averts to me and gives me an evil glare.

"Go on, Prim. I was just going to look for Delly anyways," I lie, standing up. In reality, I wanted to get more information out of her about Katniss, but I'll settle for leaving.

Prim's expression turns glum. I decide that I should say one last thing to cheer her up before I walk away. "Thanks for hanging out with me, Prim."

She stands to wraps her arms around my neck. Rory is shooting me daggers as he witnesses this.

"I'll see you later," I say while walking away.

I make my way into the house, which is a little claustrophobic. I realize fairly quickly that finding Delly is going to be next to impossible in this environment. I send her a text message asking where she is, and force my way through the crowd.

An hour and two cigarette burns later, I still can't find her. I thwart a puking episode which almost lands on my Pumas, however, and irritably proceed back outside. It's then that I find Delly passed out on a tire raft in the pool. I call her name three times, but get no response.

"God dammit," I mutter, kicking off my shoes. I jump in the pool and attempt to float over to her, but have to stop once my neck hits the water. This isn't boding well, primarily since swimming isn't my forte. I quickly go back to the shallow end and try to think of exactly how I'm going to accomplish the task at hand.

"Need some help, Mellark?" I recognize the voice of Gale Hawthorne shouting over to me with a stupid grin. If I want to leave anytime tonight, I should probably choke back my pride and say yes. At the end of the day, he is still a Hoff-douche.

"That would be helpful," I spit out through closed teeth.

Gale dives smoothly into the pool and pushes Delly's raft over to me. I grab her in my arms and walk up the steps, shaking water out of my hair.

"Thanks," I convey.

Gale couldn't hide his amusement if he tried. "It's all good. You may want to work on your swimming skills before trying to play lifeguard," he expresses. I take this as my cue.

"Well, that's what you're here for, Hasselhoff." I reply, dripping with disdain. If he only knew how long I've been wanting to say this to his face.

Gale rolls his eyes and walks back over to his brother. My attention focuses on Delly, who is soaking wet, shivering, and smells disgusting. I go back into the traffic jam that is the house, which thankfully has thinned out a little bit, in search of a towel.

When I open the bathroom door I find Prim's face planted to the toilet seat, looking no better than Delly.

"Fuck me," I stress.

I firmly rub my temples, trying to form a game plan. Should I just let the Hawthornes deal with her?

I grab a towel from the linen closet, not really caring that it probably won’t get returned. I run down the block with Delly wrapped in my arms, and start the car. When I return, I find Prim still in the same state as before.

I seize her in my arms and transport her outside as well. I walk up to Gale, who has a questioning glare on his face.

"Where are you going with her?"

"I was going to drive her home. Do you know where she lives?"

"I can take care of that," Gale boasts. My gazes lingers down to the table he is sitting at, full of empty bottles.

"I think I can manage. Just give me an address."

Gale's face is filled with apprehension. "Just let him drive her, Gale. Katniss will be pissed if she isn't home tonight," Rory confirms.

Gale finally breaks down and gives me directions. I plug them into my phone just to make sure I know where I'm going. I rub my eyes in fatigue and grab a soda from the ice chest just before leaving.

I drop Delly off first because she is closer. When her Aunt opens the door in her robe, it's with a repugnant scowl.

"I tried to keep her in check, Laura. You know how she is," I say defensively. I walk her up the stairs and gently set her in bed. She doesn't move an inch. Laura just stands behind me, shaking her head.

"What am I going to do with you kids?"

I apologize to her quickly and venture back to the truck before she can say any more. Prim's forehead is leaned against the back passenger side window. I change her position, trying to avoid a headache for tomorrow.

The Everdeen house is only about a mile away from Delly's. Upon arrival, I glance at the clock on my dashboard. It’s 1:47 A.M. I exhale and mentally prepare myself for the ammunition that will soon be fired at me.

I effortlessly pick up Prim's small figure and begin making my way to the front door. It's dark, and I can't make out the details of house; only that it is small and typical. I knock loudly and not before long, find Katniss' fiery gaze meeting mine. She attempts to shake off the sleep from her face at first, but as soon as realization hits her, she is frantic.

"What is going on? What are you doing with her?" Her voice isn't loud, but demanding. I want to walk past her and set Prim down because even with being small, she is starting to grow heavy. My arms are tired from the all the toting around.

"Do you have somewhere I can put her?" I ask carefully. Katniss curtly moves out of the doorway, but doesn't take her eyes off of me. When I enter the humble dwelling, the first room into view is a dark living area. I set Prim down softly on the couch and cover her in the blanket that is draped over the back of it.

"Are you just going to ignore me?" Katniss barks from behind me. I can barely make out her crossed arms in the darkness. Even in my distorted vision, her demeanor reminds me of the previous encounters we've shared.

"I found her passed out in the bathroom at the Hawthorne's. I figured it would probably be better to wake up at home instead of a bathroom floor."

"Hawthornes?" she asks with a confused expression before it hits her.

"I told her she couldn't go to that stupid party! I didn't even know she was gone..." Katniss' face is red with agitation and she starts pacing back and forth. I just stand in wonderment, feeling awkward and out of place.

"What was she doing there?" She looks up at me, ready to kill.

"Um, I'm not sure..." I lie, mainly because Katniss has kind of gone postal. I understand where Prim is coming from now.

We stand in a momentarily strained silence. My eyes keep looking for the door, but I'm afraid she will go off. I decide to be strong and open my mouth.

"I have a suggestion if you want to hear it," I gently convey.

"What?" she spits.

"Maybe if you gave Prim a little more freedom she wouldn't have to lie to you. Then you could lay clear ground rules and avoid sneaking and craziness like this."

"And you know this how?" she says as though it's unfathomable and would never work.

"I have two older brothers and a pretty crazy Mom," I reply.

"So, I'm crazy? That's what you're saying?" Her eyes are widening with fury.

"You're not crazy, but you're also not her mother."

Her expression is raged. I can tell that the following words to come from her mouth will be charged with animosity. Her hand moves up and rapidly hits the light switch next to her. My eyes squint in pain.

"Look around you, Peeta. Do you see her mother anywhere?" I can't help the fluttering in my eyelids as my pupils desperately try adjusting to the sudden stream of light.

"Fair enough," I say quietly. "But you've still got to cut her some slack. Let her make mistakes and learn from them," I plead.

"I've spent enough time on the Hawthorne's bathroom floor for the both of us," she adds. I feel a pang of anger and jealousy as she says this.

"But that's you, not her."

She closes some distance between the two of us and comes dangerously close to my face. I can barely smell sleep and linen on her.

"You can lead your own family on a downward spiral. I'll take care of mine," she says icily. My heart takes a dive at hearing this.

I back away in attempt of avoiding a full-fledged argument. Katniss is extremely gifted when it comes to low blows and pressing buttons. She has been quite insulting lately with her nasty comments, and I'm not sure how much more I can take. The last time it came to this, I exploded. I'm still embarrassed about my rare moment of frustration and I refuse to let it happen again.

"Fine, do what you want. I hope for Prim's sake that the next time she needs a ride home at two in the morning, it's someone who gives a shit about her," I whisper intensely.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Katniss bellows.

"Whatever you want it to mean. I'm done," I say defeatedly.

She runs to stand in front of the door, blocking my only way to exit. I hope she has something good to say, because I'm tired and pretty much over today.

"Say what's on your mind. There is obviously something else," she encourages. I look down at the floor, too fatigued to continue with this nonsense. Katniss overtly feeds off of arguing, and I don't have the energy to deal with it.

"Katniss, I'm leaving," I say patiently. The rage in her seems to dissipate. I'm not sure if she recognizes the pain in my eyes or has a rare moment of understanding, but she quietly slides out of the way.

I walk to my truck with my head hanging low. She has broken my heart enough to last a lifetime.

* * *

**2010**

Madge and I stand outside of the theatre, waiting to buy tickets for Alice in Wonderland. It's a brisk day in early March, and the place is flooded with people despite the weather. Madge's arm is tightly linked in mine to fight off the cold. I use this as an excuse to keep inhaling the intoxicating perfume she is wearing and plant soft kisses on the side of her face.

Yesterday was the first day in a long time that I hadn't thought about Katniss.

We wait in the back of the line, having silly, fleeting conversations. Madge is incredibly easy to talk to.

"Why do you think Johnny Depp is creepy?" Madge asks me through stifled laughs.

"Because he is. Every movie he's in, he plays some kind of creepster."

"No way. He is so hot," she says decisively.

"Sure, if you like old, 'to catch a predator' looking men," I add comically. She laughs a cloud of cold fog into my shoulder.

"Did you know that Delly was obsessed with him for like five months?"

Madge's eyebrows are raised in anticipation. She looks adorable in her knit hat and peacoat.

"With Johnny Depp?"

I nod my head. "She used to make me help her cut out his posters from magazines. It was the worst," I say.

"I can totally picture that. One time, she had me help her hustle this girl into trading us Backstreet Boys posters. It was intense." I almost snort in laughter and hold her closer to me.

When we finally get the tickets and go take our seats, I freeze when I catch sight of Gale and Katniss out of the corner of my eye. My heart goes back to that familiar soaring feeling that happens every time she is around.

I become lost in a cloud of Katniss, but soft fingers on my arm bring me back to reality. Blue eyes are staring at me. You're with Madge, I tell myself and look back at her. Can I really do this? I glance over at Katniss and then avert back to the stunning blonde. She smiles at me with those perfect lips and entwines her hand with mine. She actually likes you, Peeta. This helps keep the waves in my stomach at bay. I take a few deep breaths and attempt to calm my nerves.

We wind up sitting about five rows behind Katniss and Gale. I don't understand myself. I was fine with everything until I saw her. It's like Katniss has some kind of whimsical hold on me that I can't get over.

My eyes keep peering in their direction and I pay little attention to the movie. As a matter of fact, I don't watch a single second of it. What I do watch is the way Gale entangles Katniss' hair around his fingers, or how his bicep wraps around her shoulder. I nearly drive myself to the brink of insanity, waiting to see if I will scream in the middle of a crowded theatre.

Madge's hand stops me just before I burst. It hastily goes to the back of my neck and massages firmly.

"You're so tense," she whispers. "Are you okay?"

My wide eyes stare into her blue orbs. I knew this would happen. I knew I wouldn't be able to move on.

Just then, Katniss begins to aggressively move out of her seat. Gale goes to pull her back, but she yanks her hand away and walks out of the dark theatre. This causes quite the scene, and everyone is looking back towards her direction.

"You're adorable," Madge whispers in my ear. I cast this aside because I can't deal with it right now. My feet are restlessly tapping on the floor. What just happened? Did she break up with him? After a lingering moment, I abruptly jump from my seat and make my way out of the door. Gale and Katniss are standing in an empty hallway, yelling back and forth at one another.

They briefly glance at me, and I randomly walk in the direction of the bathroom across the hall, making it seem like I'm not eavesdropping. I slightly hold the door open once I'm in there, however, trying to desperately hear what's happening.

"Gale, I told you, this was a mistake. We should have never started it. You're my best friend, and now I'm afraid we've ruined everything."

"I thought it was going great until yesterday."

"Maybe for you. For me...I just can't. It doesn't feel right."

"Did I do something?" Gale asks pleadingly.

"No, I told you last night. I just don't want to be with you like that. You have to respect what I want. You can't keep touching me and kissing on me."

In that moment, someone walks in and swings the door open. I go flying into the paper towel dispenser. He flashes me a dirty look and I wave my hand in apology. I don't let this keep my attention for long, however.

Katniss doesn't love Gale.

When I return to my seat I'm much less jittery, but I definitely feel guilt stricken. I never should’ve listened to Delly. Madge is really amazing, but I'll never love her like she deserves. She keeps stealing enraptured glances my way throughout the rest of the movie, and each one makes my heart sink a little further.

When we proceed to leave, Madge tries to take my hand, but I don't return the gesture. "Peeta, what's going on?" she asks as we are getting into my Dad's truck.

I put my fingers to my forehead, just as I always do when I'm stressed.

"I'm sorry, Katniss. I just..."

She looks over at me in bewilderment. "Madge," she says sternly.

"What?" I ask confused.

"My name is Madge, not Katniss." Her austere gaze flashes at me.

Fuck.

"I'm so sorry," I admit. "I should’ve never done this." I rest my head against the steering wheel hopelessly.

"Peeta, it's okay."

"Huh?"

"Delly told me about her." I wear a befuddled expression in response.

"What do you mean?"

"Delly told me about how you're in love with Katniss." Madge's voice is poised and composed. I, on the other hand, am a complete mess. I'm flustered and disoriented. Part of me thinks I may be hearing things.

"Well then, why would you..." I can't even finish my train of thought.

"It's stupid. Delly would tell me these stories about you and the things you've done for her; I just wanted to get to know you. I thought that maybe if you spent enough time with me, you could learn to love me like that."

I scrutinize her vulnerable and candid face. I wish for her sake I could love her the way she wants me to. It would certainly make life easier for me. But I know how love operates; it chooses the improbable and makes you beg, plead, and beseech. It's powerful enough to exhibit your best qualities, yet treacherous enough to bring out the worst in you. Love invokes the very core and essence of you, and dissects it from the inside out, leaving you with nothing. It is pain.

"If I could, I would in a second." Her eyes get a little teary, and I feel a deep pang of guilt.

"Maybe one day, you can," she replies.


	5. Chapter 5

**Present**

_Beep, Beep, Beep_.

I glance over at the double convection and turn the timer knob to the off position. The smell of warm sugar fills the air as I open the oven door, displaying a dozen perfectly golden brown crème brûlées. I pull them out and set them on a cooling rack before glancing over my prep list. I only have two things left to do before I can leave for the day, and both are simple tasks.

The exhaust fans hum in the background. I hate the sound of an empty kitchen. You get so used to the clanking of dishes and the hissing of sauté pans that once the storm has passed, it almost feels abandoned.

I pour heavy cream, powdered sugar and vanilla into the stand mixer. As I let the beater go to work, I move on to make a simple marmalade sauce with lightning speed. I've had so much practice over the years that multi-tasking has become completely facile. I glance momentarily at the clock; it’s 4 P.M. I'm almost done with my work, and we only closed two hours ago.

I proceed to reach for the pen in my chef coat, but have seemingly lost it. I let out a frustrated sigh to myself. I lose pens frequently, which is a common theme in this kitchen. I begin to walk around in a mad pursuit of something to write with, and find myself stopped dead in my tracks.

"I think you dropped this," she says, holding the blue ink pen in her hands.

My jaw drops to the floor and I force down a deep lump in my throat. Her hair has a braid to the side, just the way I always envision her when she isn't near. The black pants she wears have small dots of food stains, I assume to be from working earlier. Her cheeks are a little discolored today, but it's refreshing to see a softness in her eyes that I haven't quite had the luxury of beholding yet. I think it's nothing short of amazing how exquisite she is, especially in absence of the grimace.

"Thanks," I reply softly, taking the small writing instrument from her fingers. I'm extremely rattled by her presence, but try not to show it. I also make a valiant effort not to stare at the base of her neck, which is exposed from the v-neck style shirt she wears.

"How did you get in?" I ask curiously.

"Through the back. Sorry, I saw your truck," Katniss answers.

I nod at this and nervously rub my neck. I'm suddenly self-conscious of my wardrobe and the mess that my hair probably is after a long day. I am only alleviated by how uncomfortable Katniss looks standing in front of me. She keeps shifting her weight back and forth between each foot, and is incessantly fidgeting her fingers.

"I wanted to...well, I needed to tell you that..." She is having a hard time getting the words out and avoids all eye contact. "That I'm sorry," she says, muffled.

 **Bombshell**.

It takes me a minute to register her words. I didn't see this coming and now I'm in awe. I even rub my eyes to ensure that I'm not daydreaming.

I don't dare ask why she is apologizing, but the question is definitely burning inside me. Katniss is both stubborn and proud, and whatever has altered her thinking is bound to be profound.

"I was up all night thinking about some of the stuff you said to me. And it didn't sink in at first, but...I don't know. I don't control my emotions well. Does this make sense?" I barely hear what she says, it's too astounding. She could be talking about hula hoops for all I know.

I look into her eyes knowing how challenging this very moment is for her. She doesn't like being wrong, and she definitely doesn't like saying sorry. As much as I enjoy reveling in my deserved moment, I can't bear to watch her struggle.

"It's okay, you don't need to explain yourself. Thank you for apologizing," I say humbly. I smile softly at her, making it evident that I'm not harboring any bad feelings. This only lasts a second though, before I realize that the mixer is still going.

"Shit," I cry, running over to it. I exhale in relief, glad to see my ingredients have come together, as opposed to being destroyed.

"What is that?" Katniss asks curiously.

“Whipped cream,” I respond, scooping the firm substance into containers. I taste test it for quality assurance. She takes notice of this, and walks over to investigate the bowl, examining its contents.

"It smells awesome," she admits.

I grab a plastic spoon from my arm pocket and cover it in topping before handing it to her. "Here," I encourage. "Try it."

Katniss hesitantly brings the spoon to her delicate lips, entering the unknown. Once the flavor fills her senses, a small smile splays across her face. "It's really good," she responds. "I've never seen it made like that before."

She appears to be settled now, primarily because she has stopped the restless moving. Her face is looking over mine, however, in a way that I can't place. I try not to read too much into it, and focus on something else. As I keep peeking at her through the corner of my eye, I find her curiously touching things and looking them over. Her attention becomes turned to my cooling rack, where the crème brûlée sits, waiting for me to wrap.

"What are these?" she asks, intrigued.

"Desserts," I joke.

"Duh," she says teasingly. Her gray eyes are shimmering at me from a distance and my heart feels like it may burst at any moment. I honestly don't know how to deal with her in this capacity; I'm so used to the angry Katniss. This one is far more dangerous.

I try to keep my composure despite my heart racing. "It's crème brûlée. It's delicious."

"Hmm," she replies.

"Are you hungry?" I ask. Her facial appearance gives off a pleased vibe, but she shakes her head. "Not really, but thank you," she answers. Did Katniss Everdeen just use proper manners?

I tell myself, Be bold, Mellark. "Well, I'm not letting you leave until you eat," I boast.

"Are you going to hold me hostage?" I can't tell if she is joking or being serious. Her face wears no expression.

"Only if provoked," I respond with a smile. She giggles and covers her face in amused embarrassment. I have to keep pinching myself to be certain that all of this is really happening.

We have a moment of silence, and I use the opportunity to finish up my work. I can tell though that if I don't do something, she'll leave soon; I hold up a single finger to her, indicating to give me a minute. I quickly enter the walk in fridge, and come back out with a thick homemade brownie.

"Come on," I urge. She looks apprehensive, but eventually follows. I walk us up by the bakery area, and put together a sundae. I let her choose her favorite ingredients, using ice cream and caramel. When she isn't looking, I use the secret weapon – peanut butter.

"This thing is ridiculous. How are we even supposed to eat it?"

"With spoons," I say and produce a wide grin for her.

I grab two utensils and pull two chairs down in the dimly lit dining room. After I set the brownie in front of us, she begins to dig in hungrily.

"I don't know how you got me to eat this," she says between bites. I'm thankful that Katniss is so taken with the dessert, because she hardly notices my lack of interest in it. It's far more entertaining watching her jubilant, blithe mood.

"So, does this mean that you don't hate me?" I ask. I'm semi-surprised by my own audacity, but part of me still wonders why I didn't inquire sooner. It's been eating away at me since she arrived.

Her face turns more serious, and I suddenly wish I had just left it alone. The last thing I want to do is scare her off.

"Who says I don't hate you?" A grin widens on her face as she says this. I give her a pleading look, and she acquiesces.

"Honestly? I've never hated you. But when it comes to Prim, I don't take chances."

"I would never do anything to hurt Prim," I reply.

"How was I supposed to know that? The only thing I know about you is that you’ve slept with half the girls at Springdale."

"I have not," I protest.

"Brittany Rogers? Vivian Carter? I also heard you've been sleeping with a district attorney's daughter."

I laugh in amusement. "Brittany Rogers and Vivian Carter I will give you. My brothers set me up with them. But I've never slept with Madge Undersee. I actually really care about her; she is a friend of mine," I explain genuinely.

"Well, I have every right to be worried about my sister." Her eyes have turned hard again. I try to think of a way to lighten things up.

"If you give me the chance, I'd like to be your friend. I can show you that you can trust me." I try to meet her gaze, but she avoids it.

"I haven't been very nice to you. I don't see why you would want to..." She picks at the brownie a bit more, but it appears like she is about done with it. Her mood has also shifted. I'm sensing sadness from her.

"That doesn't matter." A heavy silence follows.

"Are you busy on Tuesday night?" I ask.

She raises her eyebrows and gives an inquiring "Hmm?"

"Tuesday. You know, the day after Monday."

"What about it?"

"It's the last baseball game of the year. We all come to the restaurant and have a huge dinner afterwards. Will you come?" I ask.

She has a lot of hesitation in her eyes. "I don't know..."

"Come on. I'll make you the brownie again," I tease.

"Well, when you use the brownie as bait..." Her smile returns, and my heart moves in tidal waves.

"Bring Prim, too, if you want."

She takes another bite of the dessert and pushes the plate away. "I'll think about it," escapes from her lips.

* * *

**2010**

"You're an idiot," Cato says at lunch. I scoff and turn my head in the opposite direction of him. He is only propelling the shit day I have had so far.

Nate raises his head momentarily from his tray, stuffing a breadstick in his mouth. "Lay off, Cato," he says through a mumbled chew.

"Whatever. Madge is one of the hottest chicks I've ever seen in my life," Cato continues. I watch the vein that is protruding from his bicep as he shoves spaghetti in his mouth. The tank top he wears openly displays all of his muscular physique.

I twirl a single noodle around on my plate, trying not to feel guilty. It's hard enough without Delly and him adding fuel to the fire. I'm almost glad Nate doesn't talk that much; it's one less person to tell me what an ass I am.

"Yes, thanks for pointing that out," I spit.

"I mean, dude, if you don't want to date her, let someone else." He points to his chest as he says this.

"I'm not that cruel," I reply.

Sixth period is shit as well. I get a D on my Chem II test, a subject I've been struggling in all semester. I catch sight of Delly in M Hall, but she is barely talking to me right now.

When I get home from school, my Dad immediately asks me to go to the store and pick up some things for the restaurant.

"Dad, I just got home. I've had the worst day..."

He shakes his finger at me and holds out a list of things he needs. "Peeta, I don't want to hear it, especially from you. You're always so good about these things..."

I grab the paper in frustration. He always expects more from me than Mitch and Jovi. Mitch is the oldest, yet has the least amount of responsibility. Jovi, slightly younger than Mitch, at least takes some initiative.

I attempt to make my case by letting out an angry huff. I do so fully knowing it will get me nowhere, but it makes me feel better than just easily complying.

The grocery store is basically deserted. This isn't surprising considering it's a Tuesday around four in the afternoon; not exactly premier shopping hours. The aisles are bare as I make my way through dry goods, looking for jasmine rice.

I find a sticker all the way on the bottom shelf for the rice, but can't find a bag. The faint rustling of a cart coming down the aisle mixes with soft jazz music in the air. I kneel down on the floor, attempting to see if there is any in the very back. I catch sight of one last bag, and reach forward to grab it. Next thing I know, a light force hits me on the top of the head.

"I am so sorry," proclaims a familiar voice. A can of green beans rolls on the floor next to me. I assume this to be the assault weapon.

I rub the back of my head while wincing, and look up to see Katniss. She stands with a calculator in hand, an envelope full of coupons and a half a shopping cart filled with stuff.

"Don't worry about it," I say nervously and pick up the can of beans. I hastily hand it over to her.

"Sorry, it fell when I was trying to grab something above it..."

"No worries," I respond shakily. She stands before me, wide eyed and slightly concerned. She also looks a bit uncomfortable, like she doesn't quite know what to say. My mouth is still slightly agape, and I myself don't know how to respond either; she is like kryptonite when it comes to my social skills.

I look at her cart again, noticing it's mostly canned goods and frozen items that fill it. A heavily marked piece of paper she is using to keep track of her purchases sits up in front. Only people with strict budgets usually do things such as this. It also seems a bit out of the norm for a sixteen year old.

I can only gaze at her in awe as she walks past me to continue her meticulous shopping. A million questions go through my head, and only one thing is for sure – Katniss Everdeen is a survivor.

* * *

**Present**

I try to catch my breath, but it is blazing hot outside. It's one of the only downsides of nice weather as opposed to snow. Right now, it certainly isn't helping me any.

"Let's go, Mellark!" Coach yells at me from the dugout. We are in the middle of running sprints and workout drills. I'm desperately gasping for air, hunched over with my hands on my knees. Sweat falls from my forehead and my back is drenched.

Cato runs past me and slaps me on the arm. I shake my head and glare in his direction, but he doesn't see. He jogs swiftly, and seemingly hasn't even broken a sweat.

I begin to run slowly, only because I don't want to be scolded. My breathing is still ragged, and it's sweltering. By the time I finish my laps, everyone else has returned and is already in the locker room.

I hit the showers pretty much by myself. Cato waits around for me though, and we are basically the only ones left.

"What's up with you today, Mellark? You were dragging. I've seen my Nana move faster than you."

I shake my head, still feeling really hot despite my cold shower. "Not sure."

"We’ve gotta go. We're already late to meet Delly, thanks to you."

Once back out in the heat, I begin blatantly sweating again. Cato looks over at me, entirely concerned.

"Are you okay?" He asks. I nod and head over to the Tahoe. I feel fine other than the sun blazing on me.

"It's just really hot out," I explain while wiping my forehead.

"What are you talking about? It's like sixty degrees. Why don't you let me drive, Rock Star." Cato laughs and I hand him the keys. I'm glad for the offer because an overwhelming sense of fatigue suddenly washes over me.

Upon arrival at Leo's Coney Island, I start to feel more than a little run down. Cato looks over at me strangely again, and immediately gets out of the car. He returns seconds later with Delly and Madge.

"What the -" Delly opens the car door at first sight of me, and instantaneously starts pawning over me. I feel her hand pressed against my forehead, and then my neck. She and Madge are looking at each other and talking, but I'm so tired I can barely make out what they are saying.

"Peet, you're burning up." I can hear Delly announcing something else, but I'm not sure what it is. I just need to sleep.

I open my eyes and peer down at the thin, green gown that covers me. I feel comfortable, but still drowsy. Tubes and wires seem to be coming out of the woodwork. They are attached to my arms, wrists and chest. I glance over and find Delly and Madge sitting next to the bed I lay in.

"Hey you," Madge says with a smile. I give a small one back. She looks even prettier than the last time I remember.

"Hey..." I manage.

"Your parents are on the way," Delly conveys.

"What's going on?" I ask tiredly.

"Well, you've been passed out for the last two hours with a temperature of 104. And you pretty much look like hell," she says.

I look around at the floral wallpaper border. For the first time, I notice the monitor beeping taking place next to me. Sea foam green pants make their way into my vision from under the curtain that separates us from the next bed. I faintly make out a man yelling for a nurse.

My parents arrive shortly after an x-ray. Unfortunately, Delly and Madge have to leave. Delly kisses my forehead before she goes and Madge my cheek. I miss them both almost immediately.

I end up peeing in a cup for tests and get blood drawn. This drags out across four painfully long hours. After what seems like forever of waiting, the sea foam looking pants return with a clipboard.

"Mr. Mellark, how do you feel?" The doctor is tall and lanky. He is kind of young as well, and I'm not sure how comfortable that makes me.

"Tired," I respond.

"Well, that makes sense. You have pneumonia," he finally spits out.

My heart sinks. Pneumonia? I've been feeling fine.

"So what does that mean?" He adjusts his tight fitting bandana before he responds.

"It means that you're a sick young man. I don't want you doing much for at least a week."

I suddenly think about the game tomorrow and how I'm going to miss it. Katniss! What if she actually comes? I can't not go.

"I have a big game tomorrow. I've honestly been feeling fine up until today. Can't I just play?" I plead, knowing that right now I honestly don't feel fine.

Mom begins to protest, but Dad beats her to the punch. "Son, no. You're not well. The game isn't more important than your health."

The doctor nods his head at this. "Your father is right. You don't have a lot of fluid in your lungs, but any is enough. You're lucky I'm not admitting you. You need to rest and relax. I'm writing you a prescription and you'll need to follow up with your regular doctor in a week."

I sigh in frustration. I've been spending my whole life trying to get this girl to like me, and the one shot I get is being demolished. Life seems to be sending me a message that a relationship between Katniss Everdeen and I is improbable.

* * *

**2010**

I pound on the door, shouting her name. Finally, Delly comes and peers out the door at me. Her expression wears annoyance, but I don't care. I won’t let her continue to avoid me as she has been.

"What?" she spits at me. I glance behind her fleetingly and see Aunt Linda in the kitchen. She is pretending to do something in order to listen to our conversation.

"Well, nice to see you, too." I smile at her, but she isn't having it. She turns her face away from me and folds her arms against her chest.

"Delly, come on. You promised you wouldn't be mad at me about Madge."

"How do you know that's what I'm even mad about?" she fires back, finally stepping out of the doorway. When she catches sight of Linda, she rolls her eyes and closes the door.

"Stop playing games. What's your problem?" I raise my arms in frustration. I don't understand where her thinking is.

"My problem is you. I can understand not liking someone. But if you don't like her, why are you kissing her? Don't you ever think about this stuff, Peet?"

I kick myself. I knew all along that going on a date with Madge was a horrible idea, but Delly was persistent. The outcome is this – a puddle of bullshit with Delly pissed off and me desperate...

"It seemed right. I wasn't trying to take advantage," I explain. My attempt of doing damage control is feeble. To be frank and honest, I don't even understand why she is so angry.

"You don't realize the effect that you have on girls," she says with sad eyes. This hits me in the chest like a ton of bricks. Her words aren't coincidence either; Delly has always known the right choice of terms to use on me. The more effective ones are jabs at my character, or insinuations of me being a douchebag like my brothers. The comment made prior did just that.

I try to pull her close to me, but she fights. I grab her wrists and hold them momentarily. Once she stops battling, I wrap them around me and bury my face in her neck.

"Delly, you're my best friend. I would never do anything to hurt you, or the people you care about. Not on purpose." She sighs against my shoulder, and I feel her tension begin to fade away. She feels so intensely, it's part of what makes her so fierce.

"Why didn't you like her?" she asks quizzically.

"I do like Madge. I like her a lot. I just don't want to hurt her."

"Well, if you like her, then why would you hurt her?"

"Because she isn't Katniss."

* * *

**Present**

My body is exhausted. Mitch brings me chicken soup, but it just sits on my nightstand. I can't hold down food right now. I go through waves of hot and cold spells all morning long. By the time noon comes around, I have zero energy, but still don't have the ability to fall sleep.

I can't decide what to do about Katniss either. It constantly lingers in the back of my mind. It's possible that if I don't go to the game, she will think I'm standing her up. I don't have a phone number to call her. The problem is what if she isn't planning on coming at all? Am I stressed over all of this for nothing? Will she even care either way?

I slowly move to the kitchen in the attempt of getting apple juice, but my Mom orders me back to bed.

"Peeta, you need to rest." she proclaims.

"I just wanted some juice..."

She raises her wrist to shoo me away. "I don't care," she says.

I lay in bed again for an elongated period of time, tossing and turning through sweats and chills. Around three, I finally seem to break my fever. This time upon rising, I find my mother asleep in her arm chair with the General Hospital theme softly playing in the background.

At the sight of this, a thought hits me. I know what I must do and this is probably my only chance to accomplish it. When I begin putting on sweat pants and a tank top, it takes all my strength to fight through the nausea. I just hope that with my fever finally at bay, I will be able to execute.

I hurriedly grab my keys off the counter. If I'm quick, I can make it back before Dad and Jovi get home. No one will even know I am gone...

I put the car in reverse and softly hit the gas, only to receive a violent honk from a car driving down the street. This momentarily rattles my confidence. I take a deep breath and make an effort to back out again, this time successfully.

Katniss' house isn’t far. And not surprisingly, her mother's car isn't in the driveway when I arrive. I slowly get out of the driver’s seat, ill and dizzy. When I finally press the front doorbell, I feel as though I may topple over.

Prim faintly comes into my vision from the porch I stand on. Her eyes are wide, and she quizzically looks down at my feet. I peer down at my moccasins, which would normally be found on a sixty five year old man. My pajama ensemble isn't my normal attire, and she doesn't miss it. She looks back up at me again, this time in utter disbelief.

"Peeta, are you okay?"

My forehead is a bit sweaty. I affray the fatigue and frigid waves that linger throughout my body.

"I just want to see Katniss," I declare.

"You don't look so good," she conveys.

I rub friction on my arms and kick myself for not bringing a sweater. Prim is looking at me stupefied, and I'm almost concerned she is going to make me leave. I decide to be honest. "I'm a little under the weather. I just need to talk to her for a minute."

She leaves momentarily and returns with Katniss, who is immediately confounded. Her gray eyes stare at me in an alarming fashion.

"Peeta, what are you doing here?" Katniss asks right away. She then ushers Prim away, which I'm glad for.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm not going to make it tonight," I explain. She starts awkwardly smiling and brings a hand up to her mouth, covering her laughter.

"Obviously. You look terrible."

"I didn't want you to think I was standing you up."

"So your first thought was to drive here in your pajamas?"

I nod my head and look down at the ground.

"I just didn't want you to think..." My head feels heavy and I start to teeter towards my right. I can't keep up with my thought process.

Katniss briskly grabs my arm and leans into me. Even not feeling well, I am consciously aware of the heat radiating from her. She wraps my arm around her neck and uses her hip to support my weight.

"You should be at home in bed, silly."

She patiently walks me into the house, where I immediately smell beef broth. My stomach turns from the nausea that immediately follows the perception. After leading me to the couch and gently laying me down, Katniss sets a glass of water in front of me.

"Try to drink this. It might help," she explains.

I bring the glass to my lips, but my stomach gurgles in dismay. I force some of it down, hoping it won't come back up.

"How did you even drive here?" she asks with a partially stifled laugh, but I can tell she is serious as well.

"Not sure," I admit. I bring my arm up to wipe a layer of sweat from my face. Katniss doesn't miss this, and moments later, comes back with a damp, cold towel. She folds it and sets it across my forehead. I shiver from the coolness, but she drapes a wool blanket over me.

"We've gotta break this fever so I can drive you home," she relays.

"Sorry, it was stupid..." I voice uneasily.

Katniss lets out a cool “Shhh" from her lips and adjusts the wet towel on my forehead.

"Have you been taking medicine?" she asks.

"My Dad is bringing me home my prescription tonight," I explain.

She walks away quickly and returns with three pills in her hand. My heart begins to race when she sits on the couch next to me. She catches this and asks me if I'm okay.

"Um...fine. Are those safe to take?" I try to play this off as the excuse for my rapid heart rate.

Katniss looks over the bottle and chuckles. "Well, are you pregnant or at risk for liver failure?"

I laugh and shake my head. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Well, you're fine then." She holds the pills to my mouth and helps me drink some water. I down most of it, but it tastes awful and makes my stomach turn. I try not to allow her to see my discomfort, not wanting her to think that I'm a baby.

I watch Katniss kneel in front of the small fireplace I hadn't noticed before. The last time I was here it was so dark, I probably wouldn't have noticed anyway. She uses small chunks of branches. There are woods that lead up to her backyard, so she must get them from there. I watch as she takes a section from the stack of old newspapers, and uses it to ignite the fire. After a few minutes, it begins to blaze and radiate with warmth.

I end up falling asleep. When I wake, I find Katniss sitting at the table next to me. She is intensely going over paperwork. When she catches sight of me awake, however, she pushes it aside and turns her attention.

"Hey. Feeling better?"

"Actually, yeah..." I answer honestly.

"I should probably get you home then."

After she graciously helps get me to the car and buckled in, I fight the urge to stare at her. Is this how good it could be? Is this what Katniss Everdeen is like when she isn't scowling?

She drives my truck back to the house, but takes it slow. I'm not sure if it’s from her or the pneumonia, but my stomach is doing cartwheels. When we get close to the house, my heart sinks a little. I don't want her to leave.

Katniss basically has to carry me to the front porch, which is no easy feat because I'm solid and heavy. My parents quickly meet us there, and my Dad helps take over my weight. I immediately miss the warmth of her.

My mom's face wears a furious expression. I almost worry that she will start yelling at Katniss, but to my surprise, she doesn't. She yells at me instead.

"Are you crazy?" she bellows.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I convey.

"Peeta, you have pneumonia. You can't just come and go. And you shouldn't be driving! In your condition, you could have killed someone!"

Dad puts his hand up at her. "Dalilah, it's okay. Let's not yell at him right now." He shifts me inside and helps walk me to my bed. I sit on the edge of it, feeling empty. It would feel much better if Katniss were here.

"Peeta, why was it so important for you to leave?" I look up at him, a little intimidated to answer. My dad is very intuitive, though. Chances are he already knows the answer.

"I aksed Katniss to the game tonight. I didn't want her to think I was standing her up."

"You like her?" he asks.

I nod my head. "Very much."

"Clearly. Well, I'm going to drive her home. Rest, okay?"

I lay my head down on the pillow and close my eyes, thankful for whatever Katniss gave me. It has stopped the chills for the time being.

A cool lip brushes my cheek, but I'm so tired I can't move. I catch a faint smell of firewood in the air. It isn't until she says, "Bye, Peeta," that I know for sure it's real.


	6. Chapter 6

**2010**

I stand behind Delly, waiting for Cato to serve on the other side of the net. He makes a big ordeal every time he gets to do so, throwing the ball up high in the air and bouncing it hard off the wall.

"Come on, Cato. It isn't that serious..." I announce.

After making a big spectacle of himself, he finally hits the ball in mid-air and it bounces off the net.

"You screwed me up, Mellark."

"Whatever. You stink at this game anyways. I feel bad for Madge," Delly remarks.

We all glance over at Madge, and she is wide eyed. Cato begins to huff furiously and glares daggers at Madge.

"I didn't say it," she asserts through stifled laughter.

Delly and I rotate, and she spins the ball in mid-air before swatting it. She is ridiculously good at indoor volleyball; too good, actually. I knew I should’ve paired her with Madge to make up for Cato's weakness, but I hate to lose to him. He will flaunt his victory for a week until I lose my mind over it.

The game continues on for another twenty minutes, and then Delly and I switch partners. Madge is actually pretty good though, and we find a steady rhythm. I get a decent amount of digs, and she spikes well with her generous height. Everything goes great until I dive for the ball and end up sending it directly into Madge's face.

"Shit! Madge, are you okay?"

I run over to her and investigate her nose. She is laying on her back, holding it shakily. A trickle of blood runs down the right nostril.

I pick her up carefully and begin to head out of the court. "I'm going to take her to the bathroom. I'll be back in a minute," I tell Delly.

I carry her over to the restroom and set her down on the toilet. The blood isn't free flowing, but moves in a soft drip. I take a piece of paper towel and run it under cold water before gently holding it to her skin.

Once I'm kneeling down in front of her, I ask, "Are you okay?"

She nods her head. The tip of her nose is a little red and there is a tear forming in her eye.

"I'm sorry. I'm a jackass," I state.

"You didn't do it on purpose," she responds with a light hearted smile. "Besides, I'd still rather be on your team than Cato’s."

I let out a burst of snorting laughter and this causes her to do the same. I look back up and meet her gaze. My amused, filled face finds hers grinning from ear to ear.

"Does it still hurt?" I ask, still holding the towel.

"Not as much. The coldness feels good. I'll ice it when I get home."

I remove the damp towel and reveal her now dry nose. "Well," I announce. "I think you'll live."

"Oh, you think so?" she questions.

"I do."

"Well, thank you for letting me know," she jokes sarcastically.

"Well, I did get an ‘A’ in anatomy," I reply smugly.

In that moment, her hand comes up to my cheek. Her expression becomes serious as she gently caresses it with her palm.

"I love you, Peeta," she whispers. Her soft blue eyes are gleaming down at me. My chest starts to feel constricted. I don't know how to respond, but honesty I'm sure, is the best choice.

"I don't deserve you to," I admit.

The warmth of her hand moves on to my neck and she lowers her lips to mine. They meet softly and linger for only a few seconds before I pull away.

"I don't want to drag you along..." I convey.

"I know," Madge replies sadly. I rest my forehead against hers.

"I don't want you to come second. You're too good…"

"Every time you say stuff like that, it just makes me love you more," she explains.

"Sorry..."

"You should be," she jokes through tears.

"Maybe I should be more of a douche? What if I started putting a bunch of gel in my hair and called all women broads?'" I say with a weak smile in an attempt to cheer her up.

"It would definitely make you less appealing." We both laugh at this, and I wrap my arms around her shoulders.

"Tell me what I can do to make this easier," I request.

She shrugs. "It's just one of those things. You're easy to fall in love with" she replies with a half-hearted grin.

I really don't deserve her affection.

* * *

**Present**

"Is this the only paper you have?" Delly asks. I walk over to the computer desk and investigate the situation. The only paper remaining is the 'M' bordered paper that my Dad used to print menus on.

"Guess so," I reply, handing her a mug filled with black coffee.

"Thank God. It's too fucking early," she pronounces as she takes it. I watch as Delly prints out two weeks’ worth of notes for me, which she typed out and saved to a jump drive.

I look at the clock, knowing we have to leave for school soon. I rush her along.

"I'm glad you're coming back to school. I'm tired of typing up chemistry notes. Besides, I miss your girl drama."

"Yeah, yeah. Come on, we have to go."

I go pretty much the whole day without seeing Katniss anywhere. It's very disappointing for me, especially after how she took care of me when I was sick. I almost hoped that she would come back and check on me, but she never did.

After school, Cato offers to spot me for extra strength training. My body has been feeling incredibly weak.

"Take it easy," warns Cato. I've been attempting to press two hundred pounds for the last ten minutes, but it's been challenging.

"I just feel so out of shape," I say defensively.

"You're run down. You were basically on your death bed."

I lay down to do another set of weights and Cato takes the bar before I can grab it. I immediately start to protest.

"Dude, you're done for the day. We can do more tomorrow." I let out a frustrated sigh, but he disregards it.

"I gotta go. No more, okay?" Cato advises as he walks away. I nod my head reassuringly and head for the locker room.

I take a quick shower and change out of my sweaty clothes. With my backpack in hand, I make my way down the hallway, only to be stopped by a sweet sound.

I look through the band room window, and find Katniss sitting in front of the piano. She is by herself, clearly lost in her own little world. I watch in amazement as her hands glide swiftly over the keys. She beautifully hums a melody along with it.

I open the door softly and quietly seat myself in a chair placed behind her. She doesn't even notice my presence.

She continues to sing as she plays a dramatic piano melody. Her voice is strong, rich and bold.

_Pull me out from inside_

_I am ready_

_I am ready_

_I am ready, I am..._

I'm completely captivated by her. She has an amazing presence when an instrument is within her fingertips. I can't explain how very moving it is.

I go to adjust my leg, but shuffle too much in my seat. She quickly turns around and catches sight of me. With an angry and startled voice, Katniss begins to question my attendance.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry. I walked by and heard you playing. I figured you wouldn't mind if I listened," I protest.

Her face is displeased, but I can tell it's beginning to soften. She sits back down on the stool and moves her attention back to the keys. I quietly make my way toward her and lean against the piano, opposite of the side she sits on.

Katniss looks slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, I don't mean to be angry. I didn't know you were there," she explains. Her dark brown hair cascades down her arms. I notice up close how her lashes are long and lustrous, with slight curls at the ends. I try not to stare at the curvature of her neckline or the way her thin, yet strong arms effortlessly move. In this moment, she is as radiant ever as I've ever seen her.

"I didn't mean to spy. I should have knocked," I admit. I pull my bag up my shoulder uncomfortably, signaling that I'm gathering my things to go. Katniss notices, and pats the stool next to her before scooting over. "Put that down," she orders.

I find the seat next to her and bask in the warmth of her closeness. My heart pounds nervously as my palms fill with sweat. She is always aware of my anxious behavior, so I force out a deep breath and steady myself.

"Have you ever played?" she asks curiously. I nearly gasp when her arm barely grazes mine as she moves to the keys.

I nod my head and begin tapping 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.' Katniss softly laughs and plays it along with me, harmonizing in a lower key.

"See? I'm like the next Billy Joel." This causes her to raise her eyebrows and a large grin spreads on her face.

"Definitely," she jokes.

"I think we should have a duel. Whoever plays the best song wins."

"And what do we win?"

I raise a finger to my chin and contemplate. "If I win, I get to make a wish. If you win, you get to make a wish."

"And who grants these wishes?" she asks with a sarcastic, curiously raised eyebrow.

"Well, let's be honest. I have zero chance of victory, so me..."

"Well, maybe not. You go first."

I press my fingers along the keys and pretend to play a melody. It's honestly terrible and short lived. I stop before I end up making a complete ass of myself. But Katniss' face is red from laughter, so in the end, my spectacle is worth it.

"It was a masterpiece. I honestly don't know why you don't have tears in your eyes right now. It was that moving," I joke.

Once our laughter subsides, I urge her to begin playing. She continues the song that I interrupted earlier.

_I am folded_

_And unfolded_

_And unfolding_

_I am...colorblind_

Her voice nearly sends chills down my spine. I can't fight the dull ache that lingers in my stomach. My desire to touch her is manifesting quickly, and I'm not sure if I can prolong it much more. Her proximity is having massive effects on me at the moment.

The room is filled with a hollow sound once she is done. It leaves an empty feeling, and I almost want to encourage her to start again.

"Counting Crows. One of my favorites," I divulge.

"Mine, too."

After a momentary silence, I reply, "It clearly was still not as good as mine."

She rolls her eyes and begins lightly tapping keys. Our arms still barely touch when she reaches over me.

"Do you remember when you played _Wild Horses_ in the sixth grade?” I ask.

A smile is immediately displayed on her. Quick movements begin on the piano, softly playing that same melody.

"You remember that?" she asks, gleaming. I nod my head.

"I can't forget it," I voice genuinely. Her fingers stop moving and her eyes meet mine, filled with wonder. She stares at me for a long time, as though she is trying to figure me out.

"Who are you?" she asks abashed.

I squint my eyes at her, a little disconcerted. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you aren't what you seem. You're this buff, baseball stud who can have any girl he wants. Why are you here with me?" I can only stare at her in disbelief.

Do I just tell her?

"Because there is nowhere else in the world I would rather be right now," I reply ambitiously. She is turned now so that her leg is touching mine. It feels like fire coursing through my veins. Our hands gently graze one another’s on the piano keys. It sends bolts of electricity through me.

In that moment, her lips come up to meet mine. I'm nearly paralyzed, but recover quickly. Her skin is softer than I expected it to be. She tastes rich and her lips are plump and delicate. The faint smell of firewood in her hair reminds me of the day she kissed my cheek.

I plant my hand on her side as our kiss intensifies. She presses her mouth slightly harder in response, but the pace of our lips colliding remains slow. I take mental snapshots of everything about this moment; the way her hair touches my cheek, or how the base of her hand tickles the back of my neck. I especially try to focus on how exquisite she feels; starting from the warmth of her lips down to the way our knees touch.

I'm lost in our embrace. She shifts her weight to better position herself, and this leads to her breasts brushing against my chest. Her hand moves slightly up my neck and through my hair. The combination of these sensations makes me grow slightly firm. I cross my legs to avoid evidence, but it's enough to distract her. She breaks away from me hastily, and I nearly kick myself for being such a...guy.

I bring my hand up to her cheek and gently caress it. Katniss' cheeks and lips are bright red. I already miss the warmth of her. I just want to continue kissing those lips and never stop.

"So, I hope you just cashed in your wish," she says with ragged breathing and I laugh slightly.

"You are incredibly beautiful," I word with captivated eyes. She lets out a nervous, uncomfortable chuckle.

"You make no sense," Katniss retorts and slightly backs away, her expression perplexed. I try to think of a concise way to respond that may calm her, but my mind is working against me.

"Not everything has to make sense," I assure her.

"What starts in chaos ends in chaos," she affirms. I shake my head at her.

"Life is messy. That's just the way it is. You have to learn to trust."

I raise my hand back to her, caressing her neck. The apprehension in her eyes falters. I feel her quivering fingertips entwine with mine. She moves closer on the piano stool again.

"Why do you have to be so sweet?" she asks shyly. I bring my lips again to hers, and relive the bliss that occurred just moments prior. I'm pleasantly surprised when her tongue enters my mouth this time, exploring me. She tastes even better than before. It almost reminds me of rain.

Because I know I won't be able to tame the throbbing between my legs, I cut it off hastily. She doesn't protest, only stares into my eyes with heavy breathing. I find myself just as breathless, and we chuckle in harmony.

"I need some water," she announces.

"I have some in my bag." I unzip it and hand her the plastic bottle. She graciously takes it and begins drinking. We sit momentarily, taking in all that has just occurred.

"How are you doing on catching up?" she says while directing her gaze at my folders.

"Pretty good, except for Chem II. It's killing me right now."

She quickly reaches for the folder. "I took that last year. What are you working on?"

Before I can protest, she opens it up and displays the contents. My chest tightens in anticipation. I hope she won't notice.

"It looks like you're on..." Her words subside and she begins to finger the outline of the sheets of paper. The 'M' in the corner is far too distinctive to miss.

_She remembers._

"What is this?" she asks sternly.

There is no sense in lying. "It's paper that my Dad used to print his old menus on."

Her hands begin to shake a little, and her expression bears betrayal. I can only watch as she throws the paper on the floor.

"Katniss," I protest. She begins to walk away. I race behind her and grab her by the waist, holding her captive.

"Get your hands off of me. I'm not some charity case," she spits.

"Charity case?" I ask, confounded.

"Yeah Peeta, charity case. I don't need you leaving me notes, or telling me how beautiful I am. Save it for somebody else who buys it." She instantaneously storms out the door, never looking back at me.

Her words are chilling. My heart sinks; we're back at square one.

* * *

**2009**

"Sorry," Jovi says as he spills cheap vodka all over my shoe. I get bumped from behind as Mitch's date begins to grind against my back. Jay Sean’s 'Down' blares on the speakers in the corner. I can hardly hear anyone talking to me because it's so loud.

I begin to feel a little claustrophobic and fight my way to a free space. The air is hot and filled with smoke. I look for her in the clouded room, but have no luck. I take notice of the many people headed for the back yard.

Vivian comes next to me and grabs my hand. She is pretty in her own right, with thick curves and large breasts. Her hair is nearly jet black, and is vibrant when contrasted with her light skin.

"You're missing all the fun," she tells me, pulling me back to the living room.

"I'm just trying to cool off," I explain. "I'm going outside for a few minutes. I'll be back."

The back yard is full of empty cans and red plastic cups. Shoulders bump me from all sides as traffic moves in and out. The sound from the speakers is faint out here, which I'm thankful for. House parties aren't known for great music.

Sitting against the garage, I find Katniss and Gale. Her head is leaned against his shoulder and he has her locked in a tight embrace. He smiles lightly as she says something to him, and in response she peers up at him longingly. My heart beats rapidly and my stomach falters. I tear my eyes away because I can't bear to watch any longer.

I re-enter the smoke filled house and find Vivian leaning against the wall, talking to Mitch. Her eyes meet mine, and she makes her way over to me. I try to hold my composure.

Don't think about Katniss.

"Want to go somewhere?" she asks. Mitch, still leaning against the wall, gives me a thumbs up. I nod my head nervously at her.

We meander into a vacant bedroom and she locks the door behind us. My stomach is curling from nerves. I attempt to focus my attention elsewhere. Shakily, my hands fiddle with the small stereo that sits on the dresser. After rummaging through CD's, I find one to my liking and press the play button. 'Colorblind' by the Counting Crows hums softly in the background.

Vivian comes from behind me and wraps her arms around my chest. Her breasts feel full and soft against my back. The warmth of her breath is on the base of my neck just before she reaches around and grabs a hold of my crotch.

"You should turn that off," she whispers into my ear, biting my lobe. She fidgets a little behind me and pushes the back of my shirt up. It's only then that I feel bare, taut nipples pressing firmly against my bare back. My cock reacts violently to this.

I envision Katniss and Gale again. I think about how I desperately want her to be my first time. I know deep down, however, that this will probably never happen. I push this frustration back down and decide to put it to good use.

"I like this song," I admit to her.

"It's depressing," Vivian says while reaching around me and turning it off. "And what were about to do is far, far from depressing." Her hand unzips the front of my jeans and reaches down into my underwear. I close my eyes and gasp when her hand firmly strokes the base of me. Vivian then produces a rubber condom, sliding it tightly across me.

"We'll have to remember to get magnums next time for you, big boy," she says mischeviosuly. I can only watch her in disbelief. My chest tightens with anticipation. I'm not sure what to do or to expect; I try to focus only on how good it will feel.

Our kisses are frantic and not timed well. My inexperience shines through in this regard, but I attempt to make up for it with energetic compliance. I make good of her wishes and demands eagerly, putting forth efforts to learn and grow as I enter the realm of sex.

The best part is I don't end up thinking about Katniss for the next hour.

* * *

**Present**

Delly and I sit quietly at lunch. My head hangs low and I feel as though someone has ripped my heart out of my chest. The pain is indescribable; I have no will to live.

"Peeta," she calls. I act like I don't hear her.

"Peeta," she repeats. I still don't look up. She continues to keep saying my name over and over again. Finally, I look up and vehemently ask, "What?"

"Can I have a cookie?"

I can't help but smile and laugh. "Leave me alone," I whine while covering my face with my hands.

"See, got you to smile. Now go grab me a juice before you go back to wanting to slit your wrists."

I return with a beverage and hand it to her. She has a sheet of paper in front of her that she has used to concoct some sort of list.

"Okay. I've made a list of reasons why Katniss Everdeen has ruined your life and is a total and utter bitch."

I shake my head at her. "Don't call her that, Delly." She ignores this and continues on.

" **Number one** : She didn't even know you existed until a month ago."

I sit with my head resting in the palm of my hand. All I can do is listen. It's not like protesting is going to stop her anyways.

" **Number two** : She has repeatedly broken your heart over and over again and left me to pick up the pieces. What am I supposed to do with you when you're like this? It's like spending time with a suicidal Jennifer Aniston."

I roll my eyes at this.

" **Number three** : Her braid is stupid. Who wears their hair like that? This isn’t fucking elementary school.”

" **Number four** : Her name is stupid."

I stare daggers at her. "Come on, Delly. That's a ridiculous reason to hate her."

She disregards this. " **Number five** : She doesn't even like baseball."

She looks up into my eyes, awaiting my response. I have nothing to say.

" **Number six** : She has ex-Hoff baggage. Plus, he is taller and buffer than you. They have a longer history together. Let's be honest, you can't compete."

I raise my hand up at her, indicating I don't want listen to her anymore. She again doesn't care.

" **Number seven** : She is the most unpleasant person I have ever met in my life, which ties directly into  **number eight** : the only reedemable quality she has is her music skills. Which now, I might add, has completely stripped me of my ability to listen to the Rolling Stones ever again."

"Really?" I ask her. She puts her hand up at me. "I'm not finished," she announces.

" **Number nine** : She doesn't like anyone except Johanna Mason, another entirely unpleasant person. And last, but not least,  **number ten** : she doesn't like you."

She finally stops after this.

"Are you done now?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Good," I spit.

"Any questions, concerns, comments?" she asks.

"That is quite the list. Seems like you spent a long time on it." I sarcastically relay.

"Actually, no. She is easy to hate."

After lunch, Delly and I walk to fifth period together. Ahead of us, I see that thick braid off to the side that I could recognize anywhere. I've been trying to find her all day, but she is good at avoiding people she doesn't want to see.

"Katniss!" I shout while grabbing a hold of her wrist. She stops momentarily. Once she realizes that it's me grabbing a hold of her, she begins walking again.

"Katniss," I plead again. Her pace becomes more brisk.

"What do you want, Peeta?" she demandingly shouts. I run to catch up with her, and stop myself directly in her path. This seems to bring her to a halt.

"Will you just talk to me for a second," I beg between ragged breaths.

"I have nothing to say to you. Just leave me alone." She pushes my arm off of her and starts putting her feet in motion. I stop her in her tracks again.

"Katniss, please. Just listen. I've cared about you for a really long time. I gave you those notes because I wanted to help. I don't think you're just some charity case."

Those steely eyes are anything but soft today. They are fierce and walled, reminding me of stone. "I don't need your help. Go waste your time and breath on someone else," Katniss mutters.

I feel like I'm getting kicked in the chest. This familiar feeling is lingering through me, just as it always does when the scowl returns.

"How can you say this? After everything that's happened between us, didn't any part of it mean something to you?" I ask brazenly.

"Yeah, the part where you lied about everything. Take your notes, your cookies and your sweet talk and go fuck yourself with them." My stomach tightens in pain. My whole body feels like it's under fire.

Out of nowhere, a voice bellows strongly.

"Okay. I've had just about enough," cries Delly. I'm a little bewildered by her presence. I didn't think she was standing so closely.

"Delly, it's okay," I assure her.

"No!" She yells at me. "You can let her treat you like shit all you want, but I'm sure as hell not standing around to watch." Her eyes shoot Katniss a blazing glare. I worriedly gulp down a lump in my throat.

"I'm done with you and your stupid bullshit. I don't care what's going on in that thick skull of yours, but I'm not going to allow you to keep walking all over him. Peeta is the nicest, sweetest guy you will ever meet. And for whatever God forsaken reason, he loves you. And you...you could roam this earth a million times, and still never deserve him."

Katniss looks up at her, wide eyed and her expression frenzied. Delly has totally caught her off guard.

"Whatever. This has nothing to do with you," Katniss fires.

"Like hell. I'm the one that has to pick up the pieces every time you break his heart," Delly asserts.

"I'm not stupid. I've seen the way you look at him. This has nothing to do with him and me. This has everything to do with you. So go, run along and let him keep stringing you along. At the end of the day, it's not my problem."

My heart is racing. Is this true? I glance over at Delly, who covers her red face. She looks horrified.

Katniss' eyes meet mine just before she runs toward the stairs. Everything escalated so quickly. I don't even know where to begin.

I turn my focus over to Delly, who is teary eyed. "Delly, are you okay?" I ask, reaching out for her.

She yanks her shoulder away. "Just leave me alone, okay!" Blotchy eyed and outraged, she runs in the opposite direction Katniss just had. A group of spectators stand around me, surveying all that just happened from a distance. When everything finally sinks in, I pick my jaw up from the floor and head to my next class.


	7. Chapter 7

**2000**

Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. We always get to dress up in costumes and bring candy to pass out to our friends. It's pretty much awesome.

Cato and I sit next to each other, greedily digging in our bags. Having a school day is pointless, really. In art, we all get to draw our favorite Halloween characters; in English, we usually read scary stories aloud. The best part of today though is that I get to dress up as Brian Giles from the Pittsburgh Pirates. Cato, however, keeps assuring me that his Undertaker outfit is better, but I disagree.

"How much candy did you get?" I ask, looking over at his bag. He holds it open and contemplates momentarily.

"I did pretty good. Nate got more. I saw his bag earlier. He got tons from gym class."

In that moment, a dust of glitter hits us in the face. Glimmer is being incredibly annoying and running around the room, skipping in her butterfly outfit, throwing sparkly dust about. I glance across three rows of desks and see the new girl sitting all by herself, watching Glimmer with utter disdain. She is dressed up as 'Wonder Woman' and wears a shiny blue wig. My heart sinks a little from studying her; those green eyes are filled with sadness and I can't help but notice how empty her candy bag is.

I slowly make my way over to her. I try to act cool, like my walking by is a mere coincidence. When my proximity becomes close enough, I divulge, "I like your costume."

"Thanks," she says.

"What are you drawing?" I ask. She half hides her paper, but I see it anyways. It's shaded with expertise and the drawing is an incredible caricature of a witch.

"Just stuff."

Fake, plastic wings blatantly hit me in the torso as Glimmer walks by and starts pestering her. "What are you doing, Smelly Delly? Being totally weird again?" She starts laughing maniacally.

"What's the matter, Glimmer? No friends to do something better with today?"

I can't hide the amusement across my face. Did she just diss Glimmer? No girl ever dares to do such a thing. Now I don't just want to be this girl’s friend; I have to be.

Glimmer furiously stomps away, and I swear, there may have been a tear in the corner of her eye. Delly looks up at me, quite bewildered after all that has happened. I don't think she was quite expecting anyone else to find this funny.

"Don't let her bother you. She is nasty," I assure her. Delly shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly.

I hold open my candy bag. "I got a lot. Do you want to share?" I ask.

Her eyes gleam up at me.

"Really?"

I nod my head and smile.

She reaches into my bag and holds up a single Jolly Rancher. "Even the red ones?" she inquires.

I shrug my shoulders. "Sure."

* * *

**Present**

Since the Prom is less than a month away, it's definitely been a hot topic. Usually, Delly and I never have dates and end up going together. Something tells me this year that won't be the case.

We haven't talked much since the blow up two days ago. I've tried texting her, but she doesn't respond. She has been skipping lunch in the cafeteria, and my attempts to talk to her in the hallway have just been failed missions.

I miss my friend.

After last period is over, I notice a table set up near my locker in the hallway. Prim is there passing out flyers for the car wash tomorrow that helps the student council raise money for Prom.

"Hey you," I greet. She glances over at me with a weak smile and waves.

"That good, huh?"

"Pretty much," she confesses. "I've seen better days."

"What's going on? Why the long face?"

"Well, for starters I lost my headphones today, and then Rory spilled ketchup all over me at lunch. And now, since I'm on Student Council, they are making me go to this stupid car wash tomorrow even though I can't go to Prom."

"Really?" I ask.

"Yup. And Katniss has to go, too. By the way, just in case you haven't noticed, she is pretty pissed off at you. Not that it matters, because she is pissed off at everything. But interestingly enough, she has been really great to me. Less crazy and all, even now."

I nod my head at this. "Well, that's refreshing to hear."

She gives me an awkward smile. "So...tell me," she requests. "What did you do?"

I scratch the top of my head lightly and jut out my bottom lip at her. "I, uh...I kissed her. And then she found out that I secretly gave her history notes in the ninth grade. She made some comment that I'm treating her like a 'charity case.'"

Prim starts laughing. "That sounds like Katniss. She doesn't react well to people doing things for her, especially when she doesn't know about it."

I let out a long sigh. "So you're not mad at me, are you?" My eyes gaze at the ground while I anticipate her response. I just need one person to not be angry with me right now.

"Not really. I kind of knew all along that you liked her. I'm not upset or anything. It is what it is," she adds.

I give her a pouty smile. "Thanks," I sigh with relief. Thank God.

"Do you think she will come around?" I ask wistfully.

"Maybe. She always blows up and then regrets it later on. That's how it usually is at home, anyways."

"Is that why she is so hot and cold all the time?" 

Prim laughs at my inquiry. "I'll tell you something, but you didn't hear it from me. And I will kill you if you tell."

"Scout’s honor," I respond while putting my hand over my heart. It flutters with impatience. I want to know anything having to do with Katniss' thoughts.

Prim moves close and speaks lowly in my ear. "She said that she doesn't want to like you, but you always seem to do 'stuff'. Whatever that means, anyways. I've told her a thousand times how sweet and nice you are, but she is stubborn. I think she is just confused."

"Why doesn't she want to like me?" I ask with bewilderment.

"Katniss doesn't want to like anyone. Boys aren't exactly on her list of top priorities."

"What is?" I ask in frustration.

Prim shrugs. "Stuff at home. School. Work. She's weird."

"Well, give me some pointers. What can I do?"

Prim starts to chuckle and puts her hands in the air, denoting confoundment. "Like someone else? She isn't exactly a basket of joy."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me," I admit through a long sigh.

"Just give her some space. Everything is always on Katniss' terms. And the more she cares about someone, the more she pushes them away."

"I just wish I knew where I went wrong. I keep replaying it over and over again in my head. I just..." I can't finish my sentence. Nothing makes sense anymore.

"Peeta, look; you didn't do anything wrong. It takes a long time to break through to her. Until you do, what you see is what you get."

"Jekyll and Hyde?" I ask with a wincing face.

"Pretty much."

* * *

**2007**

"I'm sorry," I cry. Yet again, I'm apologizing for stepping on her toes. She has already succumbed to putting tennis shoes on. Before, her feet were only covered by socks, which is clearly not enough cushion for the time being. My clumsy footwork is certainly not doing us any favors today.

"It's okay. Just try to follow my lead, okay?"

Delly was on the dance team for a while at one point, so I figured if anyone would be able to teach me, it would be her. What I didn't realize is just how god awful I would be. But like the trooper she always is, Delly is patient and encouraging - only looking at me with endearment when my heavy feet strike the tips of her phalanges.

Again, we try a simple slow dance. I follow instructions and allow her to lead, focusing on how her feet glide effortlessly across the floor. My movements are choppy and poorly coordinated. I nearly lose my balance twice.

"Peet...you're killing me, Smalls! You're killing me!" she says as I nearly land face first on the floor, just about taking her along with me.

"I suck so bad. How am I supposed to go to the Spring Fling when I can't dance?"

She pats my back encouragingly. "We'll keep working on it. Pinky promise." A small, thin pinky is placed in front of my face. It interlocks with my own and relief washes over me. At least I know she won't give up on me, no matter how hopeless I seem.

"Now, try not to look down and focus too much. Just go with the flow..." I put one hand down on her hip bone again, the other locked with hers. I try not to concentrate, but it's difficult. Delly's motions are smooth and I desperately want to mimic that. I take my mind someplace simple and try to only feel the directions our bodies take us. I don't even notice it's working until I feel her physique weightlessly resting against me, her head pressing against the bottom of my cheek and her breasts softly against my chest.

It's then that realization hits me. There is no distance between the two of us, and I've never been this close to another girl before. Everything about it - the softness, the smell of shampoo and the pulsating erection that is beginning to awaken - is a bit scary.

I think of an excuse, any excuse to get me out of this. I've never thought about Delly in such a way, and I don't want her to get the wrong idea. I'm only human - a twelve year old human with uncontrollable urges. Any set of breasts pressed against me are bound to get a rise. It doesn't make it any less embarrassing, though.

"I, uh...forgot my Mom wants me home by six," I say, looking over at the clock. It's five forty. I keep looking at her gaze, hoping she won’t glance down near my crotch. She doesn't. Her eyes are focused on mine, and her dismal expression rattles me.

"Okay..." she comments.

I bolt out the door, not saying anything. Something I've never had to think about until now burns in the back of my mind. My parents voices keep resonating, "It's different once you get older, son." I so blatantly disregarded it. And in this moment, it's very alive and well.

Having a girl for a best friend is tough for a boy.

* * *

**Present**

I stand in her doorway, silently staring over at her. She is perched in the bay windowsill. From time to time, she will do this when depressed. The sunlight is washing over her in a very angelic way, illuminating her tan skin and small, but muscular frame.

"How did you get in?" she asks.

"With your key. It's always under the planter." My hands are shaky. When Delly is like this, it's almost worse than Katniss. At least with Katniss there is nothing to lose - because nothing was ever obtained. Delly's friendship is something that is dear to my heart and always has been since we were little. It's a lot to take from me.

"I know I've been avoiding you, Peet. I just...I'm not quite sure what to say." She doesn't look at me, only out the window.

"Delly, I never knew. I wish you would have told me," I secretly lie. In actuality, I wish I still didn't know. It's just complications that I don't want our friendship to have. She means the world to me and I don't want to lose her over something like this.

"Maybe. Or maybe you're just saying that because it's the nice guy thing to say and that's what you do best."

I shift uncomfortably at these words. Her voice is very monotone and without emotion. It's very unlike Delly, who is normally so animated.

She continues to speak and look out the window. "You know, when I moved here after they all died...everything was so empty. I was young, but I still remember certain things about all of them; the way my Dad used to kiss me before bed, or the way the house would smell when Mom would put fresh flowers out. And Kurt, he was always so protective. Anytime I would fall or something would happen, he would be there. And suddenly, all that was gone and there was this big, gaping hole in my heart."

The corners of my eyes burn. Delly very rarely talks about the death of her family. I've known her most of my life, and all I know is that they died in a car accident, which is why she moved here with her Aunt Linda. It was actually Linda who told me what happened.

"And then you came along. In the beginning, you reminded me of Kurt, but then you became something more. You were everything. And the more I got to know you, the better I became. The hole in my heart wasn't so big when you were around."

I allow my back to slide down against the inside of the door panel. I wind up sitting on the floor, leaned against the wooden frame with my head turned away. Tears are threatening to fall and I don't want her to see me cry.

"That day in the seventh grade when I taught you how to dance - that was the day I really knew I loved you. It's funny that for all these years we've been on the same mission. I've been trying to get you to notice me, and you've been trying to get Katniss to notice you. The only difference is that I've been in front of you all along. How ironic is it that at the end of the day, she’s the one who pointed it out to you."

Memories flood me. It all makes sense now; the reason that Delly has always been so compliant of being my date to dances, or how she always has time to do things with me. A girl as beautiful as her is bound to have a boyfriend at some point, but miraculously, she never has. Her love of baseball was never by coincidence, either. It didn't come until after we had been good friends for several years that this turn of events came about.

"If this is how you felt...why try and set me up with Madge?" I ask curiously.

"Because I wanted you to be happy."

Silence momentarily falls over us.

"Originally, I had hoped that the obsession with Katniss would eventually go away. And I told myself that I wouldn't tell you until I was sure you weren't wrapped up in her, but here we are. And now, for your sake, I hope one day she will love you like you deserve. Because...this thing, Peet, it’s never going to go away for you. And I will never ask you to love me back, because I know it will never be the way you love her."

She finally looks away from the window and turns to me. "Delly..." I say. "I do love you. You're my best friend. And if there was anyone in the world I could choose to love like that, it would be you. But it doesn't work like that. I can't help the way I feel."

"I know that," she says, looking out the window again.

"There is no one in the world more important to me. You're like a part of my family and the last person in the world I want to hurt."

"Well, don't feel bad. I don't want you to worry. After today, this isn't something we're going to talk about again. But I do need you to work out your shit with Katniss. I can't keep watching her walk all over you while you stand around and do nothing."

I nod my head at her. "Okay," I respond shakily.

"I'm not mad at you, Peet, but I need to be by myself right now. I don't want to talk anymore," she tells me.

And just like that, I leave, teary eyed and all. The whole way home I can't help but replay our conversation over and over again in my mind. I feel like an ass for not knowing what has been going on all these years.

When I pull up in front of my house, I find Katniss perched on my front porch. I press my forehead against the steering wheel in defeat. Normally I would be floored by her presence, but I've had about all I can handle today.

She stands once I'm in her eyeshot. Her hands are pushing determinedly into the back pockets of her shorts as she gazes at me. My nose lets out a light trickle while I wipe my eyes hastily. The exhale that follows this is deep. I can only hope that the redness of my face isn't too obvious. It's starting to get dark already, so hopefully she won't notice. A cool breeze blows heavily in the night air, which is normal for the end of April.

"Hey," she says once I reach the steps to the screened in porch. The light in the living room is on, and I can hear my brothers talking in the background. It smells like sweet peppers and chicken broth, a combination that my father usually pairs for chicken a la king.

"Hey," I answer very unenthusiastically. I can't help it. Part of the problem is that I'm completely drained of emotion after my discussion with Delly. The other part is that I don't quite know how to deal with her rollercoaster ride of emotions.

"I know that you're probably not very happy with me right now, and I would be kind of mad at me, too. But if you have a little bit, maybe I can explain a couple of things..." The grey of her eyes twinkles slightly against the nightfall. A cast of light from the window creates an obscure shadow across the side of her neck. I watch the way her braid cascades down it, displaying all the different shades of brown.

"I'm honestly really tired..." I begin. My mental state is befuddled. Do I honestly want to take another chance? I want her, but at the same time her wrath is entirely soul crushing. I fear that my heart will not mend after another one of her emotional massacres.

At that moment, my father opens the front door. He is holding a sheet pan of garlic rolls that immediately make my stomach growl.

"Dinner is about done, kids. We're just waiting on you."

Katniss begins to protest. "Oh, it's okay. I was just about to go. Peeta's had a long day," she responds.

My father completely disregards this. "Nonsense. At his age, there is no such thing as a long day. Come on in. There's plenty to go around."

He shoots me a curious look. I shift my attention to Katniss, who seems entirely uncomfortable. "Come on," I encourage while tilting my head towards the front door. Without thought, I put my hand out for her. She grabs it hesitantly and follows my lead to the dining room, where the whole family awaits.

My mother gives an inquiring look as I pull a chair out for Katniss. My brothers are completely unaware of the surroundings, too busy shoving bread in their mouths. Mom slaps Jovi on the arm, telling him to mind his manners. Katniss could care less, though. Her eyes are too busy roaming across the table full of food.

My father brings in the last of the dishes and sits down. "This looks great," Katniss compliments.

"Well, thank you. I'm glad we now have the opportunity for you to sit down with us. We didn't get a lot of introduction last time," my father explains.

"Thanks for having me," she replies kindly. I glance over at her and give a warm smile. Oddly enough, with her being so near, my foul mood is beginning to dissipate. I'm finding myself becoming lost in fervor.

"So Katniss, where do you live?" my mother asks. Those grey eyes glimpse up from scooping chicken casserole on her plate in complete wonder.

"Um...on the north side, right on the border of the Butler district."

"The Butler district?" my mother asks. Mitch rolls his eyes in silence.

Katniss nods her head. I know where my mother is going with this. The Butler district is the poorer part of Springdale, and it borders southern Orrville. The part of town that Katniss lives in is near that area, which is normally filled with drunks and scandals. Every now and again, you will see overflow from this. Our house is a few miles from there, and is closer to the southern side of town, by the Boating district. In the summer, it's one of the nicest areas in city.

"Katniss has a really nice house. There is a fireplace and everything," I add. Katniss again shoots me a soft grin, and I feel a tingle of warmth run through me. I don't think it's possible for me to stay mad at her when she is like this. I tell myself to keep my composure though; she may flip the switch at any second.

My mom has a forkful of casserole in mid-air and asks, "What do your parents do for work?" My heart sinks a little at the way she says 'parents.' Katniss' expression doesn't falter, however. She is cool as a clam.

"My mom is a nurse assistant at the hospital. She works mostly midnight shifts." Katniss purposefully only answers half of the question, but everyone acts like they don't notice.

"I imagine that would leave you quite unsupervised then, wouldn't it? Lots of free time to do whatever you please?" my mother questions.

"Actually, school, work and my sister keep me pretty busy," she says.

"Yeah, you work at Starbucks, right? Didn't you make us those awesome coffees?" Jovi asks.

"Yeah," she answers while blushing. I grin widely, remembering that morning quite well.

"Yes," my mother corrects. We all look over, questioning her statement. "The proper term is  **yes**."

"I apologize," Katniss says, raising her eyebrows in the other direction. I nearly choke on my food.

"Dalliah..." my father asserts.

"Are you guys in school?" Katniss quickly asks my brothers, changing the subject.

Mitch laughs and bluntly answers, "Definitely not." My father rolls his eyes at this. Jovi, on the other hand, runs his fingers through his blonde curls, thinking momentarily. "That's kind of a loaded question...the short answer is no. What about you? Any place special you're headed in the fall?"

I see the redness in her cheeks that follows. The spotlight has been on her all evening long. I wish everyone would stop badgering her.

"Um...I still haven't decided. I've heard back from a few places, but nothing's certain."

"Anywhere in particular?" my father investigates.

"I applied to Michigan State, NYU and Julliard. I'm still waiting to make a decision." Her knuckles turn white as she cracks them. This conversation has her a little bit on edge.

"Julliard? How wonderful! Michigan State is a great school as well, though. Peeta got offered a scholarship to play baseball for them. Maybe you guys will end up in the same place," my Dad boasts.

My mother scoffs at this. "Michigan State isn't even a top tier school. Had it not been for that whole ordeal in the tenth grade, Peeta could’ve gone anywhere he wanted."

"What is she talking about?" Katniss whispers lightly in my ear and I shiver from the soft heat that hits my lobe. The expression on her face seems to wear a bit of confusion. I find her hand under the table to and give it a gentle squeeze, my attempt to silently assure her. To my surprise, her grip holds onto me when I try to let go.

Mitch gingerly laughs about this. "Man, I almost forgot about that. Perfect Peeta got caught with dope," he says.

I clear my throat deep and loud, making it obvious that I'm trying to change the subject. "Dad, this chicken a la king is delicious, as always. Thank you."

The rest of the dinner is mild. My mother behaves, which is refreshing. I steal glances over at Katniss, making sure she isn't put off by her, but she is seemingly fine. If anything, it appears as though she has genuinely been enjoying herself.

When I offer to help clean up, my Dad pulls me aside and relays words of wisdom. "When a beautiful girl is waiting on you, you don't test her patience. Go on."

He points at the porch, where I glance out the window, bringing Katniss into my view. She sits on the bench, impassively waiting and gently rubbing her arms. I grab my coat and head out to where she is. Her smile beams tenderly at me as I drape my coat across her arms. Our knees just graze each other’s after I slide next to her on the bench. She must not mind, because she doesn't even flinch.

We sit silently for a moment, despite the fact that there is a lot that needs to be said. I don't mind though; there is something settling about her being in the same room. It's as though everything is right where it should be.

"I'm sorry for what I said to you and Delly," she confesses. "It was awful. I'm really ashamed."

"You should be," I say honestly. "And you need to apologize to her." Katniss nods.

"I do need to apologize to her. She has always been really nice to me. She didn't deserve that."

I ignore the yearning in my heart that wants to scoop her up and plant kisses all over her. I need to be practical right now.

"I know sometimes I say these things just to be hurtful, even though I know they aren't true. I just...I don't know why I do it. Maybe because I want other people to feel what I'm feeling? Whatever the reason, it's not a good one."

I let out a tenacious exhale. "Funny enough...what you said was true. Delly does have feelings for me, and I didn't know about it."

"Oh God..." she says, covering her face.

"I'm not sure which part was worse. You telling me to go fuck myself, or about me stringing her along. I still haven't decided..."

"I'm so sorry..." she proclaims with pleading eyes.

"Why did you say those things? The whole charity case? What was that about?"

"Freshman year was really hard. After my Dad died, I started to change. I stopped caring about things, people...I even started ignoring Prim. I had a tough time for a while with a lot of it. Every time I felt like giving up, I had to pull myself together. But I don't want people to look at me and think that I need something because of that. I'm not weak. And I felt like you left those notes because you thought I needed help, and that I was weak."

I look at her directly in the eyes. "Everyone needs help sometimes. It doesn't make you weak. It makes you human."

"I'm not everyone else..."

I raise my thumb to her chin bravely. "I know you're not. And I don't think you're weak. I think you're beautiful, talented, and incredibly stubborn..."

She chuckles nervously with a smile. I lean in to touch her lips to mine, but she turns her face away and clears her throat.

"What's wrong?" I ask shakily, rattled from rejection.

Katniss points over at the window elusively. "We're not alone," she whispers. I glance across the siding and see my mother’s stern face, and she quickly scurries once realizing she has been spotted.

I burst out laughing, and Katniss follows suit. "She couldn't hate me more if she tried," she says between roars of laughter. "If it makes you feel better," I pause, "She doesn't like me, either."

Her expression becomes serious again. "What did she mean? About tenth grade?"

"I, uh...got suspended for 'possession of an illegal substance on school grounds.'" She looks bewildered by this revelation.

"You? Come on...there’s no way."

"It wasn't mine."

"Obviously. You took the blame?"

I nod.

"For who?" Her eyes are large, and her face is filled with anticipation.

"A friend. It's really wasn't a big deal."

"Your Mom acted like it was. Something about you not getting scouted?"

"I've drawn a lot of attention, but a lot of times, schools don't want to deal with drug charges. They think it's going to be a continuing problem down the line."

"So, that's a big deal then..." 

I smile awkwardly and shrug my shoulders. "It would be if I wanted to play baseball for the rest of my life."

"And you don't?" Her eyes are peaked with genuine interest. I fight the urge to run my hand across her neckline.

"No. I want to stay in Springdale and take over my father's restaurant. I know it sounds crazy, but it's true," I admit.

"It doesn't sound crazy. It sounds honest."

"I mean, I could make a ton of money, travel, be famous... for some people, that's great. But I don't know...whenever I think about my future, I don't picture it like that. I'd be gone for months at a time, never seeing the people I care about..."

"I haven't opened any of my acceptance letters yet," she confesses.

"Really? Why?"

"Because I'm scared that I'll want to leave."

"Isn't that the point?" I ask with a light guffaw.

"Yes and no. I don't trust my mother enough to take care of Prim when I'm gone."

"Prim is just as smart as you. She can figure it out."

"Yeah, but I need her just as much as she needs me. I hate to admit it."

"Yeah, but this is your life. If you stay, it should be because you want to, not because you think you need to."

She thinks about this for a moment. "I'm nervous that I'll get into Julliard, and that I won't be good enough."

I look at her like she is crazy. "I hope you're joking."

"The acceptance rate is ridiculous. Something like eight percent."

"Exactly. If you weren't good enough, they wouldn't take you. And if they don't, it's because they are morons. You're incredible."

The twinkle in her eyes returns. One single strand of loose hair rests against her cheek. I want to try and move it, or kiss her again, but I'm still stinging from her last rejection. I keep my body still.

"It's getting late," she announces. My hands shuffle nervously. I hope I wasn't coming on too strong just a moment ago, because it almost feels as though she is running away.

I walk her to her car, which is across the street. I dawdle a little bit, of course, anything to keep her near me longer. As she goes to open her car door, she momentarily stands still.

"I'm glad you came," I tell her.

"Me, too. Your family is fun."

I laugh. "My Dad and brothers are fun," I correct.

She giggles. "Hey, I wasn't going to say it..."

"So, does this mean you don't hate me...again?"

Her smile widens. "Does this mean you don't hate me?"

"I don't think that's possible," I comment.

Suddenly, she balls up the top of my t-shirt and pulls me close to her. Our lips meet, wet and open mouthed. Her tongue fiercely connects with mine, overlapping and tasting me. My hand finds its way to her hip, and she leans her weight against the car. I take this opportunity to move closer to her, and eliminate the distance between us. Our bodies become flush, resting against one another’s and feel the newness of it all. Her lips begin to move more passionately, her pace quickening. My heart is soaring. Every press of her lips, every linger of her fingertips against my back feels like lightning.

I back away, gasping for air. Her eyes are lustful as they watch me move away. She quickly gets in the car, her chest taking heaving breaths. My heart continues to race the whole time.

As she drives away, I still feel little electric volts dancing across my lips.


	8. Chapter 8

**2009**

I jut out my bottom lip as Delly adjusts my bowtie. I stand patiently as she buttons the top of my suit coat. Again, she tinkers with a removal of something white and fuzzy from my sleeve. I look around, hoping there is no one else near to bear witness. Only one person leans against the brick wall outside of Springdale High, talking on their cell phone. A light breeze blows in the wind.

"Stop fussing," I command after a moment of her continuous fiddling.

"Your tie was crooked," she replies defensively.

Delly's dress is a brilliant purple that ends just before her calves. Her hair is in an updo, leaving only one thin strand that hangs by her cheek. Her make-up is heavy, but tasteful, only accentuating her beauty.

"You look nice," I compliment.

"Well, let’s be honest. I've always been the better looking one in this friendship," she jokes.

I roll my eyes at her as she glances at down my tuxedo once more. "I'm just kidding, don't get sensitive. You look nice, too..." I smile at her, and she adjusts my blonde curls. I smack her hand away. "Stop!"

"Whatever," she comments. "I'm freezing anyways. Let's go in."

She links her arm with mine as we enter the front doors. Our first view is of a large banner that says 'Homecoming' above a white background. A bright flash flickers from a large camera, and elaborate dresses fill the room. We make our way to what is normally the cafeteria, taking in our surroundings. The lights are dimmed and purple spotlights circle the ceiling while music loudly fills the air.

"Welcome to our first high school dance," Delly chimes in awe.

My stomach flutters a bit when I see people sprawled out on the dance floor. I'm not a very good dancer, despite several attempts to learn. In the back of my mind, I know that Delly is going to try and drag me out there. If that’s the case, it's going to have to be with me kicking and screaming, because I don't plan on making an ass of myself this evening.

I catch a glance of Gale Hawthorne out of the corner of my eye. His hair is slicked back and his pinstripe tuxedo neatly pressed. It looks slightly older, but well taken care of. I almost wonder if at one point it was his father’s. He and the ravishing Finnick Odair stand near the refreshments table, scoping out the crowd and drinking punch.

A hand on my shoulder breaks me out of my daze, and I look over to see Mitch. His freshly cut, light brown hair falls perfectly into place, and he exhibits a smile so wide it's almost contagious.

"What's up, little brother? Digging your first dance?" I shrug and give him a weak chuckle.

"We just got here," I reply.

"Well, don't just stand around. Go scope out some ladies." I look over at his date, who appears to be something from the Hill District. It's near downtown Pittsburgh, and is usually full of drugs and prostitutes. Her make-up is intricately done and her hair is tousled. A dress that is hiked up with her breasts splayed everywhere doesn't exactly scream 'I'm in high school' either. I'm really not sure how she hasn't toppled over in her heels yet.

"I'm getting settled. In a little bit," I assure him. Mitch turns his attention to Delly, who he eyes ravenously.

"Va va voom. Lookin' good, Delly," he flirts. She puts her hand up in front of her face, signaling that she doesn't want to talk to him. "I have mace, and I'm not afraid to use it," she warns.

Mitch's date then brings her arm around him, whispering in his ear. Delly raises her eyebrow at the sight and I bring my hand up to the top of my nose, nervously massaging the area. When her tongue darts in his ear, Delly clears her throat loudly.

"Oh sorry, guys. This is Autumn."

"Sure, whatever. Anyways, didn't we have a discussion about you responding to the Missed Connections ads? Really, Mitch...I thought you had more self-respect," Delly ridicules.

"If you must know, we met -"

Thier voices trail off in my mind as I turn my attention to a short distance away. More people are pouring through the front door. I must have not been paying attention earlier, because Katniss and Johanna are already here. They are now standing near an empty table, seemingly debating as to whether or not they want to sit down there. Katniss' hair is free-flowing and bountifully curled. Little make-up covers her face. Her dress isn't fancy, but an elegant black that goes down past her knees. My jaw drops. She radiates beauty. My stomach twists in knots as her eyes wander around the room, and I almost hope she will steal a glance at me. Maybe tonight is the night I will muster up enough courage to talk to her.

"Peeta!" Delly yells. I quickly turn back around, meeting her gaze. "I've been trying to get your attention forever. Let's go dance," she commands.

I shake my head at her. "No way."

"Come on. You weren't that bad last time..."

She grabs me by the wrists and drags me into a sea of other people. I look back woefully at Katniss. My heart throbs. I want to be near her.

I make a valiant attempt to move as little as possible to the music. Anything that will make me look like less of an idiot is really the key here. I try to keep my eyes peeled on Katniss during all of this, so it's easy to take notice when she enters the dance floor with Gale Hawthorne.

As an upbeat song ends and a ballad begins, I break away from Delly. Katniss stands alone now, and I don't want to miss this opportunity. My heart pounds in my ears. As I reach nearly ten feet away, I wipe the sweat from my forehead. I can do this, I tell myself.

Just as I'm about to reach her, Hawthorne grabs her by the hand and whisks her away in his arms. Her smile beams with joy as he sets her back down and their feet move slowly together with the music.

I should've walked faster.

* * *

**Present**

I'm glad I brought sunglasses. The sun is blazing and I have a feeling I'm going to burn up standing under it. My shoulders are already red and I can see lines forming around where my tank top begins.

My relationship with Delly is back to normal today. I'm not sure how I feel about the whole 'acting as though nothing ever happened' bit, but as long as we are friends, I'm okay with it. Still, the situation is totally bizarre.

Madge and Delly are meandering in front of Cato and I. There are really only about two hours left before the car wash is over, and I have yet to see Katniss. It doesn't surprise me, because there are people everywhere. Folks have been coming and going all morning.

Katniss. A smile slowly appears across my face just thinking about last night. I hardly slept. Cato catches on quickly.

"What are you smiling about?" he asks.

"Nothing important," I respond.

A familiar, large F-150 pulls up next to us with the window down. A male face is hidden behind large sunglasses, but he is evidently chewing gum and drinking a Red Bull.

"What's up, fuckers?"

"Hey, Mitch," Cato greets without enthusiasm. They've never really liked each other very much. Mitch hardly notices Cato's lack of interest. He is too busy staring over at Delly and Madge.

He inches the truck up closer to them, and starts raising his eyebrows suggestively. Delly rolls her eyes.

"Well, hello ladies! Where have you been all my life?"

"Nowhere near you," Delly fires.

Madge sighs deeply, and quietly begins soaping up the front of the truck. Delly presses down on the sprayer, rinsing off the heavily soiled areas.

"You really seem to know how to work that hose. Maybe you can show me sometime..." The sprayer quickly moves to the open window, showering Mitch in the face. Madge starts rolling with laughter.

"God, I love you. I hope you're this feisty in the sack," he spews, wiping hot water from his forehead.

"Believe me when I say this – you will never know," Delly bluntly states.

"What about letting me take you to Prom? We could get a hotel afterwards. You could never resist. I look incredible naked," he boasts.

"Something tells me I'm not the first person you've lied to about this."

I let out a nasally chuckle despite trying not to eavesdrop. I can't help it.

"So...what do you say?" Mitch asks with hopeful eyes.

"About what?" Delly's forehead is crinkled, her face turning serious.

"About letting me take you to Prom?"

"Hmm, let me think about it...uh,  _NO_."

"Why not?"

"Let's see...you taking me to Prom in your Dad's truck, in a suit that your Dad will probably pay for. Then you're going to try to feel me up in a hotel, that your Dad will also pay for. You'll probably be drunk and stoned. And let me guess - your Dad pays for that, too. Not to mention the whole transmission of sexual diseases that I'm sure will come into play. While all of that sounds amazing, I'm going to have to pass."

"Aww, come on. Seems a little harsh. I pay for my own weed."

"Oh, boy," Madge chimes up from washing the headlights.

"I'll get a job," Mitch blurts. This makes me turn my head, as well as Cato. Delly just stares at him, confounded.

"Sure," Delly says sarcastically.

"I will, if you'll go with me," Mitch states with a straight face.

"You're twenty two. Don't you have anything better to do than a high school prom? Didn't I hear about some kind of stable of bitches you have?" she asks.

"It's going through a rebuilding process," he jokes with a wry smile.

"Well, I'll tell you what. You get a job, a haircut, sober up and take, I don't know...a daily shower, and I'll think about it."

"Wait, so let me get this straight. I do all that, we go to Prom...and the hotel?"

"Prom," She bellows.

"Well that doesn't seem fair," he pouts.

Delly just laughs, speechless. Mitch really is something else.

"Hey, I'm going to go look around for a little bit," I interrupt.

"Let me guess who you're looking for," Delly remarks with frustrated eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter, walking away. Once I make my way to the other side of the parking lot, I see Prim and Johanna soaping up a station wagon.

"Hey, Peeta," Prim calls out and waves.

"Hey. You guys need help?"

"Not if your shirt stays on," Johanna replies with a wicked smile.

I blush about three shades of purple.

"Johanna!" Prim cries.

"I'm just saying. It's warm out here. The shirt is unnecessary." Johanna has pretty much always made sexual innuendos at me. This isn't surprising.

I don't even hear Katniss' footsteps come from behind me. "Sorry guys, I'm back." My breathing immediately becomes ragged once her presence is felt.

Her hair is twisted into a braid again. She is wearing those small gym shorts that drive me wild. There is a silver lining around her eyes today, which seems light and at ease. She gives me the softest smile imaginable. I feel my heart taking off.

"Hi," I convey to her, nearly a whisper.

"You missed all the fun," Johanna divulges loudly, immediately attracting Katniss' attention.

"Really?" she questions, looking over at me curiously.

"Not really," I answer, embarrassed.

"I was just telling Buff ‘n Stuff that he should work without a shirt on," Johanna teases, making washing gestures with her hands. "Wax on, wax off."

Katniss raises her eyebrows and a shy grin creeps across her face.

"Well, that would certainly be interesting," she replies bashfully. My blush deepens in my cheeks. I can see Katniss is a little rattled as well, her face looking flush.

"Do you guys have any plans tonight?" I ask nervously, desperate to change the subject.

"I'm trying to get Katniss to go to Finnick's birthday get together, but she doesn't want to go." Johanna stares daggers at her, and Katniss returns her a look of nonchalance.

"I told you, I have a bunch of homework. Plus, my shift starts at seven tomorrow."

"You always use that as an excuse."

"Because I always work. It's not an excuse."

"Whatever. Buff ‘n Stuff, you try to talk some sense into her."

I point at my chest with a baffled look. "Me?"

"Stop calling him that," Katniss asserts to Johanna. "He's not a piece of meat."

"Why? He loves it." I'm slowly but surely starting to feel like I am the prey and Johanna is the hunter.

Prim shakes her head. "Not so much," she confirms.

Man up, I tell myself. I clear my throat loudly. "Um, ladies...it's okay, really. I don't mind. Anyways, I just wanted to come over and say hi."

"You're leaving already?" Prim cries.

"Yeah. I gotta get back to the gang," I say, pointing my head to the other side of the parking lot. "But if you don't mind me stopping by later, I would love to see you guys again. Maybe I could bring you dinner?" I look up at Katniss, who acts as though she doesn't hear me. Prim's face wears disappointment.

"I promised Rory I would help him study tonight," she explains dissatisfied.

"Well, you and I can go get lunch next week," I promise. I like Prim more and more every day.

Katniss continues to play coy, so I don't push any further. With her, if you wait around for approval, you will get nowhere. I've already made up my mind on what I'm going to do anyway.

"What about me?" Johanna inquires suggestively.

"I'll wash your car for you," I reply with a smile. Johannas eyes go wide. Katniss puts her hand over her face in an abashed manner, covering her laughter.

"Wax on," I tease. I wink playfully at Katniss just before I turn around. Her face is completely without color, except the red on her cheeks.

What I wouldn't give to be a mind-reader right now.

* * *

"Knock knock," I say, opening the screened front door. Katniss is sitting Indian style on the couch, her math book openly displayed next to feet. A gentle breeze blows into the living room. She is studying intently, wearing a square pair of glasses I have never seen. Surely I would have noticed them before.

"What are you doing here?" she asks. It isn't harsh, but more inquisitive.

I raise my arm, which has a bag attached to it. I made one of my favorite dishes for her – sausage lasagna and homemade bread. It took two hours, but I figure it will be worth it if she likes it.

"I thought you might be hungry. Did you just get glasses?" Her brows are furrowed, and she takes them off almost immediately after I ask.

"I got them a few weeks ago to help me read."

"They look nice," I compliment. She blushes shyly, which is something she has been doing much more as of late.

"I'm sorry. I know you need to study and that you work tomorrow. I won't stay long," I assure her.

"It's fine. I just wasn't expecting anyone," she explains from the other room. I roam the kitchen freely, pulling the container of lasagna from the bag. It's extremely hot, and I end up having to look around for towels. I feel awkward opening drawers, so I'm relieved when Katniss comes to my rescue.

She opens the bottom drawer and reveals potholders, which she hands to me. "It smells great," she comments while leaning over to examine the dish. Her proximity is extremely close, and I get a whiff of strawberry shampoo. Her hair, which is down now, tickles my arm. I suddenly want to skip the meal and ravage her.

I say nothing, only because I'm afraid of stammering like a fool. I try to concentrate on cutting up the fresh bread, but she still ends up diverting my attention and stealing the end piece. I smile and watch as Katniss dips it generously in the whipped butter I made. "Mmmm," she sounds with a mouth full.

"You're distracting," I announce playfully.

"I'm the one who is supposed to be studying," she declares, hoisting herself onto the counter. The back of her legs hang against the cabinets. "You just invited yourself..."

I dip another piece of bread in butter and hold it near her mouth. "Me and my food can leave," I tease, keeping the bread a safe distance from her.

She leans her face forward. My heart leaps. I nearly quiver at the thought of feeling her lips against me. Just as our mouths are about to collide, she turns her head and rips the bread out of my hand. I can only gape as she greedily stuffs it in her mouth.

"Or, you can stay," she says, jumping off the counter, walking past me and sitting down at the table. I follow suit with the food, and this is where we stay for the next hour, chatting and eating until we are satiated. I notice how she is becoming more open and receptive to talking to me. I feel as though her walls are slowly coming down, and it allows me to worry less about the mood shifts.

"So, why are you afraid of Julliard?" I ask curiously.

"Because I don't want to associate music with work. They aren't the same thing," she explains articulately. "It's just like anything else in life. When two people get to the same place, generally one has to work harder to get there. I don't want to be the person working my ass off just to stay afloat."

"Have you opened it yet?"

"Not yet..."

I feel my bladder pulsating. Dammit, it's always at the worst time.

"Sorry, I just need a second. Where is the bathroom?"

She points to the hallway, and I begin to traipse through. I accidentally open up the wrong door however, displaying a small room with peach colored walls and a small bed. There is only one miniscule dresser, and a tall keyboard by a bed side table. I allow my fingers to glide across the keyboard, wondering how many times her fingers have done the very same thing.

"Wrong room," she declares behind me. I nearly jump a foot.

"Sorry. I opened up the wrong door..."

She chortles slightly at me. "It's okay. There's not much to see anyways."

"Is this where you play?" I ask. She sighs heavily in response.

"It's where I try to play. When I was twelve, my Dad started saving money to buy me a piano. He knew how much I wanted one. He bought this for me in the meantime. Obviously, he never ended up being able to buy the real thing."

"If he hadn’t died, do you think he would have bought it?"

"Um, probably not. It wasn't for lack of trying, they're just too expensive. But, this keyboard doesn't even really work anymore. I just keep it because he got it for me, and it reminds me of him."

I reach my hand out and grab a hold of hers, planting a soft kiss on her palm. She gives me a soft smile.

"Sorry. I have to pee," I comment.

When I come back from the actual bathroom, she is laying across the bed, holding her stomach.

"I'm so full..."

I chuckle at her demeanor and sit down next to her. "I warned you. You kept stealing bread from me," I harass playfully. She then pulls me down close to her. I sigh as she rests her head against my stomach, using it as a pillow. Her hand sits gently on my chest. My mind is clouded with thoughts of her. I think about how simple this is, how I've never felt my heart soar as high as it has been these last few weeks. When rewarded with moments like these, the mood swings are suddenly worth the pain.

Because she has initiated intimate contact, I assume it's okay for me to run my fingers through her soft hair. It feels like silk against my skin. I softly massage her scalp in the process. She lets out a soft moan against my belly.

"Why did you do those things for me?" she asks softly. I let out a deep sigh. I knew this moment would come.

"Because I wanted to," I answer vaguely, yet honestly.

"Why did you want to?"

"I just wanted to know you."

"I don't follow..."

"It's hard to explain," I say.

"Well, give me an example," she pleads.

"Okay. In the sixth grade, I tried to give you peanut butter cookies. It was because I saw you buying them one time, and I thought you liked them."

She turns her face around so she can look at me. Her brows are furrowed and she gives me a grimace. "Yeah, but why did you want to give them to me?"

She knows I'm dancing around the question.

"Because you made me feel things that no one else ever made me feel," I confess. I can't tell her more. It would scare her off. She would flip flop faster than you can say Indiana Jones.

She seems content with my answer, and rests her weight against me again. Her fingertips are making patterns across the top of my stomach. It's distracting.

"Sometimes you make me feel things that no one else has ever made me feel. It's confusing," she adds.

"It can be," I admit. Sensations from her touch travel through my veins and tug at my heart.

"I don't want a boyfriend," she conveys, still making gentle patterns. I decide to unnerve her as well, and run my fingers back through her hair.

"Well, that's okay," I respond, half listening.

"You say all these things to me and do all this stuff, and it makes it hard for me to tell you that I don't want it. But I really don't want to be involved. At the same time, I don't want to not see you either. Does that make sense?" 

I laugh out loud, knowing that it isn't the first time she has asked me that when explaining her feelings. It didn't make sense then, and it doesn't now.

"Not really," I answer honestly.

She lets out a long groan of frustration. "Stop being so...you," she asserts.

I pull her face up to me, maneuvering my hand under her chin so she can look at me. "You're thinking too much about it," I tell her.

Her forehead crinkles. "I don't think so," she assures me. 

I chuckle at her. "Repeat what you just said to yourself, and get back to me." My first two fingers still grip a hold of her chin. Those grey eyes are gleaming up at me with such apprehension. I know she wants to give in, but part of her is still conflicted. I also know that she doesn't have a good reason to not like me, which makes her fight her feelings less.

I decide I want to perplex her more. I lean down and bring those lips against mine. She doesn't protest. Her hands lay flat against my chest, her warm lips softly maneuvering against me. When I open my mouth, she doesn't need an invitation. Her tongue slides in without hesitation, caressing mine, her lips still pressing slowly. Her hair tickles the side of my face, and I inhale the same lingering strawberry smell that I got earlier.

I'm lost in her. If I don't stop now, I'll never find my way out.

I break free first. Her hands still dawdle through my curls. I'm almost glad she is touching me, keeping me alert. It helps me remember that this isn't a dream, that she is tangible and in front of me.

"There isn't a minute that goes by that I don't want to be where you are. I will do whatever you need. If you want me around, I’ll be around. If you want me to stay away, I'll do that too." I give her a gaze of deference, wanting her to understand that I will be compliant in her wishes. She just looks back up in a way that I've only hoped for my whole life; fondness.

* * *

**2009**

My cell phone buzzes in my pocket. I cringe. I don't want to look at it. I have a feeling that I know what awaits me.

Much to my chagrin, it buzzes again. I pull it out and glance down. I have five missed texts from Vivian.

"I miss you."

"I want you inside me."

"Are we going to Cato's together on Friday?"

"Why aren't you responding to me?"

"Are you breaking up with me?"

The last one is the most disturbing. We are definitely not together. At the end of the day, the situation is very much my own fault. I allowed myself to get upset over seeing Katniss with Gale, and the heat of the moment took over. The consequences of my actions await while Vivian continuously blows me up. She has been incessantly calling and texting for the last week.

I thwart her the rest of the day, ninja style.

Later that evening, when I get home, I find Jovi in the garage by himself. He is changing the oil in our Dad's truck.

"Hey. Do you have a minute?" I ask worriedly.

"What's up?" He adjusts the bandanna around his head, wiping grease all over it.

"I, uh, I'm not quite sure what to do with Vivian..."

"Vivian?" He looks over at me, his eyes questioning.

"Vivian Carter."

"What about her?"

"I slept with her," I blurt.

"Really?" He stops what he is doing, and is now giving me his full attention. "Good job," he says while nodding his head.

"Not really. She won't stop calling me. I keep blowing her off. What should I do?"

Jovi turns to me, his face as serious as ever.

"Peeta, women are sensitive, complex creatures. These things have to be handled with extreme care. The good news is that you're halfway there..."

"Halfway there?"

"You slept with her a week ago. By my calculations, she should stop texting you in approximately six to seven more days."

"So you mean I should just keep ignoring her?"

"Peeta, come on. Of course you keep ignoring her!"

The whole reason I asked him for advice is because I feel like ignoring her will blow up in my face. Now, he is just standing here telling me to do the very thing in question. I think about this momentarily, and start to walk back into the house.

"Peeta, wait!"

I stop and turn back around. "What?"

"Not every woman is made the same. Some, like Vivian, may take longer to grasp the larger picture. They are more persistent, and prone to cling. If you have a clinger, there is only one option left. You find her hottest friend, and fuck her brains out."

I look over at Jovi in complete confoundment. His expression holds no gest. This is his honest approach on the opposite sex.

"Well, good talk. Thanks, Jovi," I say while walking back in the house.

_That just happened._


	9. Chapter 9

**Present**

Still half asleep, I sit in the kitchen, shoving a spoonful of fruity pebbles into my mouth.  My cell phone sits on the table next to my bowl, where I check the scores from last night’s baseball games.   I’m normally the only person up before 8 a.m, so for the last year I’ve had the luxury of enacting my morning routine in boxer briefs.

“Oh God!” 

 I jump nearly a foot, spilling blue-colored milk all over my crotch.  I look up to find Mitch with a grimace, putting his hands over his squinted eyes.

“What the fuck, dude?  Where are your clothes?”

“Sorry.  Nobody is ever up around this time...” I protest.  

“Well, I’m up and I don’t want to see it,” he groans.  I can’t help the smile that escapes my lips when I notice his attire.  His hair is still long and disheveled under the visor he wears, but it clearly says ‘ _subway_ ’ across the top of it.  The green polo and khaki pants are not, I assume, his first-choice in clothing.

“Fuck you,” he declares after I bark out a loud, nasal laugh.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” I lie.

“Whatever.  My shift starts in fifteen.  I’ll see you later.”  His eyes appear heavy and tired.  I look over at the clock, which reads 6:45 a.m..

Mitch up before 7.00 a.m?  Going to work?  Wow. 

There’s a first time for everything.

I hope Delly remembers the deal she made with the Devil.

* * *

I look around Katniss’ locker before first period, but only find an empty space.  It’s been nearly a week since our last exchange, and I’ve thought about little since.  I’m trying to give her space, but my heart is weakening.  I miss everything about her.

It’s possible that our schedules aren’t aligning.  It’s also possible that she is simply avoiding me.  My notebook burns under my fingertips. I pull out a piece of paper and conduct an internal debate on whether I dare to leave her a note. She did make it clear that she doesn’t want a boyfriend.  Should I just let her make the first move?  I groan at the thought, knowing if that’s the case, I might as well give up now.  Katniss never initiates anything. 

 _Screw it_ , I decide.  What’s the worst that can happen?  She doesn’t talk to me?  It matters little when it’s been nearly a week since our last conversation.

I pull the pen from my pocket and hold the paper against the locker.  I stare at it blankly.

Maybe I’m thinking too hard; just write the first thing that comes to mind, I tell myself.

_You’re thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about you.  Real or Not real?_

I put little check boxes next to the _Real_ or _Not real_ for her to answer, along with my locker number at the bottom so she can return it.  I fold the note up, my hands shakily holding it at the vent.  I push it past the point of no return and hope for the best.  

At lunch, Delly notices my angtsy, on-edge behavior.  As my leg bounces rapidly, she kicks me softly on the calf.  

“Stop.  I hate when you do that,” she hisses.  I’m a bundle of nerves since I still haven’t received a response from Katniss.

“Sorry,” I answer.  I reach over and steal a peanut butter cracker from her.

“Thief.  So, tell me... What’s your deal?”

“Just a crazy day.  Mitch saw me in my underwear this morning.  He was actually up before noon.  It totally threw me for a loop.  I think he disrupted the balance of the universe.  The whole day has been off.”

Delly looks up at me in utter bewilderment. “Up before noon?  Shut up!” she responds, mouth agape.

“He got a job,” I reveal with a smirk.  She starts choking mid-chew.  Her eyes are as wide as I’ve ever seen them.

“You just might have a date for Prom,” I tease.  She gives me a fiery look, and shakes her head.  “Whatever.  He’ll never do the rest of it.  I must say though, I’m impressed with the whole job bit.  Is it legit?”

I nod my head.  We sit momentarily in silence, just thinking.   

“Are you going to ask Katniss to Prom?”  She asks.  I let out a long sigh in response.

“I’m not sure.  She is... indecisive.  I still haven’t talked to her since Saturday.”  My eyes droop in disappointment.

Delly looks at me inquisitively.  “Well, that’s interesting.  Because I talked to her this morning.”  

I raise my eyebrow.  “She spoke ... to you?”

Delly bites her cracker before responding.  I wait impatiently as she chews.  “A whole talk about feelings.  She apologized a lot, mostly about the whole ordeal with you.  It was pretty uncomfortable,” she finally unveils.  

“What did you say?” I ask, incredibly curious.

“Not a whole lot.  She seemed genuine.  I don’t know, I still don’t like her.  You’re still putting up with her garbage too, which really pisses me off.”

“She’s been great lately,” I say defensively.

“When?  You haven’t even seen her.  She is playing games with you.”

“No,” I contend.  “She has been honest about what she wants.  I’m giving her time.  I don’t want to push her too much.”

“Whatever.  That girl could light you on fire and you would find a way to defend her.”

The rest of the day goes by painfully slow.  I decide after fifth period to make a pit stop at my locker.  I take a deep breath and slowly open the door, to finally find that same folded up piece of paper resting at the bottom.  Nervously, I unfold it to display a single check mark.  It’s next to _Real._   

My heart soars.

Underneath it, she has written her own response.

_You like bad action movies.  Real or Not real?_

My grin stretches from ear to ear.  My heart feels like it’s ready to burst.  I read it three more times, just to make sure I’m not crazy.

I contemplate our antics for a minute.  The idea of us continuing this playful game is intriguing.  It also seems like a good way for me to get to know her better.  I quickly try to think of something else to ask her.  As the warning bell chimes, I quickly write down something ridiculous and just go with it.

_You used to like the song MMMBop.  Real or Not real?_

This time when pushing the folded-up note through the vent, my hand isn’t nearly as shaky.

I’m blissful for the remainder of the day knowing that she thinks about me.  After last period, I nearly sprint to my locker, anticipating another response.  My smile turns painfully wide when I find the triangle of paper once more, and see a circle around _Not real_.

Under it she writes:  _You’ll bring me cheese bread to work tonight.  Real or Not real_?

I love that she is playing along. 

My mind wanders.  This game is harder than it appears, especially because I’m trying to stay on topic.  I can think of a million sappy things to say to her, but we’re not quite there yet.  I circle _Real_ and playfully add _You’ll trade bread for kisses.  Real or Not real?_

She can be greeted with that.

* * *

**2009**

“Gross,” I comment as Cato wipes mustard on his pant leg.  Ketchup is plastered in the corner of his mouth;  a remnant of the hot dog he just inhaled.  It’s like watching a five-year-old in action.

“Whatever.  I eat like a man,” he defends.

“Like a caveman,” I fire back.  He throws the wrapper into the empty stands in front of us and sucks dark soda from his straw.  This is followed by a deep, guttural burp.  People across the gym bleachers frown at us in disgust.

“My point exactly,” I say, shooting him a grimace.  He shrugs his shoulders.  I turn my attention back to the basketball game, where Mitch has just checked in at small forward.  

“Sorry guys,” Delly says with popcorn in hand, stepping over our knees and moving me over so she is able to sit between Cato and I.  “How are we doing?”  She asks.

“Down two.  Mitch is in,” I answer just before grabbing a handful of her popcorn.  She smacks my wrist away while I laugh mischeviously.  

That’s when it happens.

“Oh God,” I mutter.  Vivian is making her way towards me, with her minions following faithfully.  It’s been almost two weeks since our tryst, and the text messages just keep rolling in.  She is showing no signs of relenting.

“Hey Peeta,” she says angrily, hands on her hips.  I get a blast of perfume from three feet away.  Her jeans are low rising, and her sleeves large and shoulder-revealing.  It almost reminds me of the film _Dirty Dancing_.  I have to tell myself not to smile right now.

“Heyyyyy,” I answer back awkwardly.  Delly’s mouth hangs open, eyes curious.  She has no idea what’s been going on.  Cato, on the other hand, knows the situation quite well and is trying to suppress his laughter.

“So, you’re ignoring me now?  That’s how it is?”  Hey eyes blaze at me.  I smile nervously.

“I’ve just been busy,” I half-lie.

“Yeah,” she scoffs.  Her two friends stand behind her, arms crossed.  I feel beady eyes boring holes into my back.  It’s becoming more and more apparant that we are drawing quite a bit of attention.

I make an attempt at honesty that is too little, too late.  “Vivian, look... I had a nice time, but I just don’t think that it’s going to go anywhere.  I didn’t mean to drag this out.”  The expression displayed across her face is not a pleasant one.  

And that’s when the palm of her hand meets the side of my face squarely.  Delly just stares with huge eyes.  Cato practically clutches his stomach in attempt not to keel over in amusement.

“Fuck you, Mellark.  No one fucks me over and gets away with it.”

“I think he just did,” Cato blurts, finally erupting in hysterics.  Delly punches him in the arm while Vivian glares at him, seething.

“No one is talking to you, dickwad,” she yells at Cato.  Vivian then returns her attention to me.  She inches closer, nearly getting in my face.  Delly suddenly steps forward and comes between us.

“Listen, Malibu Barbie... It’s been fun and all, but I think it’s time you and your army skedaddle.”  It almost seems for a second like Vivian might fight back, but everyone knows Delly isn’t someone you can just walk over. 

And with that, Vivian and company back down.  I watch as they become smaller in the distance, leaving me to woefully grip the side of my jaw.  The moment I look up, all eyes are directed at me.  

* * *

**Present**

I stop at the restaurant and pick up two loaves of cheese bread, along with the butter that Katniss had liked so much last week.  I even go home and change out of my shorts and into a nice pair of pants and shirt.

The Starbucks where Katniss works is actually in Pittsburgh, near Stoneybrook, but it’s extremely close to Springdale.  Mainly it’s just the locals who come in.  The other locations near Highway 76 have twice as much foot traffic.  

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” she says as I walk in.  I feel my heart flutter a little bit at the sight of her.  My body continues to be traitorous in her presence.  Will it ever stop?

She walks over to me, a gleam of sweat trickling slowly down her neckline. Her tousled hair is tucked beneath her Starbucks cap, and the apron she wears is stained from dairy and syrup. I can’t help but think that she is still incredibly exquisite.

She grabs the bag from my hands, greedily digging and examining its contents.  She all but squeals when she finds the container of butter, immediately breaking off a piece of bread, dipping and shoving it into her mouth.

I look around the empty cafe, making sure no one is able to see her eating in the middle of the store front.  I don’t think she cares anyway.  A small chuckle escapes from my mouth when she drops a lump of butter all over herself.

“You eat like Cato,” I tease, realizing that she probably won’t get the full effect of my comparison having never seen him stuff food in his face.

“Please don’t put me and Cato into the same sentence.  It’s just disturbing.”  I laugh lightly and meander over to the counter. My eyes curiously scan the pastries and chilled drinks on display.

“Don’t even think about it.  I’m not waiting on you,” Katniss jokes.

“But I’m a paying customer...”

“You are a paying pain in the ass.”

“Only that one time,” I playfully protest.

“More than once.  Your coffee modifications are excessive,” she quips.  She walks behind the counter and stares at me.

“What?”  I ask.

“Well, don’t just stand there.  Tell me what you want.  You brought me food.  The least I can do is make you something.  And don’t give me nonsense either.  How do you _actually_ like your coffee?”  A smile is displayed across her face.  She is reveling in the moment.

I give in.  I’ve been busted.  “Black,” I admit.  A hearty laugh falls from her lips and I’m pretty embarrassed by her discovery.  It makes me look vulnerable, but in a way it’s entirely true.  I think she catches on to this because her taunting subsides.

“Wow,” she mouths while shaking her head.

Moments later, Katniss sits down at our table and pushes a steaming cup next to me along with a stack of napkins.  I smile weakly and say thanks.

Silence hangs in the air.  I steal glances at her, and think about all the things I love about her. My heart fills.  It’s so full I think I might combust.

She looks at me curiously as I grab a hold of a napkin and begin scribbling on it.  _You use stawberry shampoo.  Real or Not real_?”

A small smile forms and she pulls the pen out of my hands.  The napkin is returned and I can’t prevent the grin that won’t leave my face.

_Real.  You cook with a lot of cinnamon.  Real or Not real?_

I smirk at this and respond curiously.  _Real.  Why_?

 _Because your fingers always smell like it_.

Of course, we could just as easily say these things out loud to one another, but there is something special about this game we play.  It’s like an intimate bond that only the two of us share.  I want that bond to grow stronger.

Katniss cups her coffee with both hands, blowing on the top.  A lingering concern has been gnawing at me for weeks now, and I suddenly can’t resist the urge to investigate.  I’m afraid it may put her off, but I’m feeling brazen.   

“Can I ask you something?”

She looks up from her cup with wondering eyes.  “Hmmm?”

“Why isn’t your Mom ever home?”  She heaves a long sigh and looks down at the floor.

“It’s a long story...”

“So, tell me,” I urge.  “I know you said she works at night.”

“She just started working again maybe a year ago.  But before that, she was institutionalized.  After my father died, she kind of lost it.  She’s been trying to get it together, but between work and outpatient therapy, there isn’t really much time for being a parent.”

Her hand sits on the table, and I desperately want to hold it.  To comfort her.   

“What’s wrong with her?”  I inquire, eyeing her intently.  She is inconceivably stoic.

“About three years ago, she tried to kill herself.   She would just spend hours sitting in her chair, doing nothing.  And one day, I found her in the bathtub with a straight razor.  They put her away for a while.  Since then, she comes home every so often.”  

Her story is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.  It nearly breaks my heart.  But looking back, it all makes sense:  Katniss at the grocery store, the dire poverty, her protectiveness of Prim.  More questions surface.  I want to ask why no one has ever investigated from Social Services, but I leave it alone.

I move without thinking about it, covering her hand with my own.  I hope I’m not overstepping her boundaries.  I’m not quite sure what is and isn’t supposed to happen between us.  It’s all blurry.

“You’re brave,” I tell her.  “There’s not a lot of people that could’ve done what you have;  taking care of Prim and everything else.  It’s incredible.”  

Katniss passively looks at me, completely apathetic.  I think she has learned how to shut her feelings down over the years, which is beyond sad.  She slowly removes her hand from my embrace.

“It’s just something I had to do.  There is nothing brave or incredible about it,” she comments.  My skin feels cool without her touch.  Guilt flows through me as I know I’ve dampened the mood.  I conjure up ways to lighten the mood. 

“Well, at least living with Prim is better than Mitch,” I joke.  

 She smiles softly.  “He doesn’t seem _so_ bad.”

“He is,” I reply with a grin of my own, glad to have changed the ambiance.  “Lazy, inconsiderate.  Crazy enough, he just got a job though.  He’s got something up his sleeve, trying to impress Delly.”

“Does he like Delly?”  Katniss inquires.  I shrug in response.

“I can’t imagine Mitch liking anyone for more than five minutes.”

“What does Delly think?”

“She thinks Mitch is a pig who wants to sleep with her after Prom...”

Katniss grows wide-eyed.  “Sounds like a win-win,” she responds sarcastically.  “What a charmer.”

“Oh, he definitely is.  Mitch has a gift when it comes to seducing women.  It’s keeping them around afterwards that is his downfall...”

“Must run in the family,” she banters.

“Not all of us,” I reply evenly.  “Especially when it comes to you.”

She blushes in a tense manner.  I shouldn’t push, and part of me feels bad for my suggestive comment.  But I can’t be around her and ignore what is so blatant for me; the more we’re together, the more impossible a friendship seems. 

Nervously, I grab another napkin.  I might as well be bold and ask.  The dance is only a week away. _You’ll go with me to Prom.  Real or Not real?_

After she reads it, her expression turns glum and my heart sinks.  

“Peeta...” She shakily orates.

The sound of her voice sends another descending sensation through me.  I feel like my lungs will capsize at any given moment.  

“It’s okay.  You don’t have to explain.  I honestly didn’t expect you to.  It’s not like we’re together or anything,” I manage.

“Dances just aren’t my thing,” Katniss affirms.  I nod my head and force a fake smile.  I don’t want her to know the effect she has on me.  Despite feelings that don’t want to fade, I fight the depression that threatens to engulf me.  I’m desperate to keep the last bit of pride I have.

Her words are indeed legitimate.  Dances are full of embellished frill and Katniss is anything but ostentatious.  She is simple at best.  She appreciates things in raw form.  It’s honestly one of the things that made me fall so deeply in love with her.  She lives on natural, comfortable instinct.

Katniss is pure and real.

“Maybe we could do something else instead,” she suggests.  Her words dangle in the air slowly, and I know she is trying to make me feel better.  I don’t want her pity proposition.  Rejection is bad enough as it is  

“Maybe,” I feign.  I’m certain my effort in hiding emotion seems uninspired.  She doesn’t feel the same about me, and it’s agonizing.  Did I expect her to?  The note we passed around earlier today when she told me she was thinking about me...that was real.  The way she kissed me by the car;  the signals were there.

It doesn’t matter now anyway.  Katniss has already told me she doesn’t want a boyfriend, and she isn’t going to let me take her to Prom.  It’s over.  I try not to think about it.  I clear my throat loudly, and attempt to stand on my unsteady legs.  The air surrounding us is suddenly very thick.  My breathing becomes erratic.

“I’m going to get going,” I say, pointing to the door.  I hastily make my way to it, and her voice carries across the room, pleading for me to wait.  Before I know it, she is standing next to me with her arms folded.

“Peeta, it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“Like what?” I ask woefully.  

“Like _this_ ,” she declares, waving her hands around.

“Katniss--”

“It’s just a dance!”

“To _you_ it is!  Not to everyone else,” I bellow.

“I don’t get it,” she responds, rubbing her temples.

“Katniss, at this point, the way I feel about you isn’t really a secret.”

“Look, Peeta, I know you like me--.”

“ _Like_?” I interrupt, high on adrenaline and endorphins.  At this point, the truth might as well be on the table.   “Katniss, like is not the right word.  I’ve been in _love_ with you for the last six years.”

Her face is filled with shock.  She just stares at me, slack-jawed.

“Wha- what?”

“The cookies, the notes, the suspension, everything...”

“Wait, the suspension?  The one your Mom was talking about?”

I nod my head.  “You and Johanna were in the bathroom that day,” I nearly whisper, my eyes focused on the floor.  “Outside of the choir room door.  Trinket figured out what was going on and I was afraid if I told the truth, you would get expelled.”

She is speechless.  Her eyes appear so full.  There looks to be doubt, worry, sadness... everything but the one thing I’m looking for.

A ding goes off from the front door, and a customer approaches the counter.  The woman glances over at Katniss, waiting to see if she plans to help her.  Katniss’ eyes plead for me to stay, but my heart is thudding so loud in my ears, I can’t take it anymore.

I head to my car.

When I get home, I find Mitch standing in the family room.  My mother and Jovi are sitting in front of him as he twirls around.

“There he is.  What do you think?”  Mitch asks.  His hair is neatly-trimmed and his beard has clean lines, showing it’s recent shave .  A black tuxedo is adequately-fit to his body, and he is gleaming.

I nod my head weakly.  My mind is still half in the cafe.  “You look great,” I say indifferently.  His smile grows wider.

“I just got it today.  I hope Delly likes it,” Mitch reveals.  I can’t describe the discomfort that comes from hearing him say this.  Delly is my best friend, and my brother is known for being a lethario.  It’s awkward for me.

“She won’t,” Jovi declares.  “You’re still a douche.”

“I’m sure she will,” Mom boasts, giving Jovi an evil glare.   “If not, she isn’t worth your time.”

My mom’s words course through me.  Is Katniss not worth my time?  Or is that something that parents just tell their kids to make them feel better?

“She’ll like it,” I encourage.  This I know to be true.  Delly, like the rest of us, has been hoping for Mitch to do something with himself.

I try to hide the solemn mood I’m in so Mitch can have his moment.  He has a job and is taking care of himself.   This is something we’ve all be waiting for.

I just want what I’ve been waiting for.

* * *

 **2009**  

“How could you not tell me that you slept with Vivian Carter?”

“Very easily,” I say between sips of my hot chocolate.  She kicks my leg hard.  The motion makes the merry go round inch over.  I use my foot to move it back.

“I just don’t understand why you would keep something like that from me,” Delly argues while setting her coffee down.  I watch as adjusts her knit hat, moving the strands of hair on her face back under it.  

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.  A gust of cold air blows through and I shiver.  The air feels wet, like it may start to snow.

“But you told Cato?  Of all people?”

I shrug my shoulders.  “It just seemed weird to tell you.  Especially because I treated Vivian so badly.  I kind of feel...”

“Shitty, ashamed, like an asshole?”  Delly asserts.

“Yeah,” I word.

“Good,” she mutters.  “That’s what you get for listening to your brothers.  You’re better than them, Peet.”

I look over at her curiously.  “Why do you say that?”

“You just have your own way of doing things and handling yourself.  You’re sweet and kind.  You don’t need to follow in their footsteps.  It’s not who you are.  Don’t become what you’re not.”

I slide my way over to her, and wrap my arm around Delly’s waist, pulling her close.  Our big coats allow little room for hugging, but I give my best attempt to show my appreciative affection.

“You really think I’m better than them?” I ask, wistfully.  Gentle flakes begin to fall around us.

“I know you are,” she words.

* * *

**Present**

The weekend is lackluster.  It turns out that drowning yourself in pity doesn’t get you very far.  I end up working extra hours just to take my mind off things.  I find that when you don’t have time to think about your problems, you accomplish more.

“Peet, there are people that have it worse than you,” Delly tells me at lunch on Monday.  I’ve been sulking all day.

“Like who?” I ask.

“Um, _me_.  I have to take your perverted brother to Prom.  At least you can dance without worrying about someone grabbing your ass all night,” she says.  

“I’m not going,” I point out.  I move around my salad with the end of my fork.

“What?”

“I’m not going to stand around by myself all night.  I’m not going.”

“Peeta, there are, like, hundreds of girls in this school who would sell their soul to go to Prom with you.  Not to mention that Madge is still madly in love with you.  This self-pity party is really starting to get on my nerves,” she proclaims.

“You know why I don’t want to take Madge,” I assert.  Delly sets down her sandwich and looks directly at me.

“Why?  Because you like her better than Katniss?  Because she _is_ better than Katniss?” 

“ _No_.  Because it gives her the wrong idea and hurts her.”

“Whatever,” Delly snides.  “Just another excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse,” I bellow, becoming frustrated.

“Really?  Then why is it you can never do anything.  _Everything_ is dependent on _Katniss_.  She has you cupped by the balls, Peet.  Example one:  She turns you down for Prom.  A normal person would move on and ask someone else.  Your logic:  Don’t go.  It doesn’t make any sense.”

I sigh heavily.  She is always right in these moments.

“Fine, I’ll go.  But I’m not taking Madge.  And you have to help me find someone else.”

“Fine,” she says, holding her food near her mouth.

After lunch I stop at my locker, and find the note Katniss and I exchanged on Friday sitting at the bottom.  I open it up and examine its contents.

_You miss me as much as I miss you.  Real or Not real?_

How am I supposed to respond to this?  She is sending mixed signals in every direction.  Of course I miss her, but I need to let my head clear.  She is handling my heart like a rag doll.  I crumple the note and throw it in the nearest garbage can.

The following day as I’m going to first period, Delly catches up with me.  “I’ve got someone,” she says excitedly.  My eyes are tired since I didn’t sleep all night.  There is a foul mood looming over me.

“What are you talking about?”  I ask.

“For Prom?  Hello?  Melanie Platt said she would go with you.”  Delly is far too bubbly today.  I can’t stand to be around it.

“Melanie Platt?  The girl who sat next to us in Economics?”  The girl I’m thinking of is a cheerleader who wears too much Love Spell perfume from Victoria’s Secret.  Everyday her hair and make-up are perfectly in place, like she is trying too hard. 

Delly nods her head.

“Delly, I don’t know...”  Her face grows with frustration.

“Peet, come on. You agreed!”  I throw my hands up defeatedly in the air.  

“You know what? _Fine_.  I honestly don’t care anymore.”  I walk away briskly, not wanting to deal with anything.  I’m glad she doesn’t follow me.  

The next day I avoid everyone, including Delly.

Wednesday after school, Johanna Mason greets me by pushing me hard in the shoulder, sending me into a locker.  

“What the fuck is your problem?”  She asks.  Her face is filled with anger and furrowed brows.

“Um, what is _your_ problem?”  I rub the small of my back, where a lock just pierced into me.

“You.  Why are you being a dick to Katniss?”

I look down at her with an abashed face, not even slightly sure what is going on.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, genius.  Spare me from having to point out the obvious.”

I throw my hands up in the air.  “She’s the one who shot me down.”

“She said she didn’t want to _go to the dance_ with you.  She never said anything about not wanting to see you anymore.”

“Katniss said she didn’t want a boyfriend.  Seems pretty obvious,” I add defensively.

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t _like_ you, brainless.  Cut her some slack.  Her Mom is a fucking loony toon and she has been raising her little sister.”

“I know,” I respond weakly.

“If you know, then why are you ignoring her?”

“Because...”

Her hands are on her hips, and she is looking at me utterly perturbed.  

“Out with it,” she orders.

“Because it seems like she doesn’t feel the same.”

“And so now you’re with Melanie Platt?”

I squint my eyes angrily and look at her.  “No!  We were just going to go to Prom together.”

“You picked the biggest dirty pirate hooker in the school to go to the dance with you.  Nice job, moron.”

“Better than going alone,” I add bitterly.

“Do you have any idea how much it costs for a girl to go to a dance?  Between the dress, the shoes, the make-up...  Katniss doesn’t have money, not to mention anyone who can help her with this stuff.  She doesn’t know what she is doing with dresses and crap.  If you would’ve stopped for a second and asked her any of this, you would know.  Instead, you’re just being a selfish schmuck.”

Johanna’s words hit me like a bag of bricks.

“She’s into you.  And you’re treating her like shit right now,” she spews.

“She doesn’t act like it,” I mumble.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Katniss isn’t exactly your typical teenage girl.  She’s got real shit to deal with.  Sorry if she isn’t falling all over you like some of these other prost-itots.  Let’s not forget that you don’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to girls.”

“I care about her,” I explain.

“No shit, Sherlock.  Why do you think I’m always teasing you when she is around?  It’s certainly not for my fucking benefit.  You’ve been eyeing her for years and she isn’t exactly attentive to details when it comes to the opposite sex.  I’ve been giving her a little push.”

The wheels spin in my head.  It’s a good thing I’m holding on to the locker, otherwise I may collapse.

“Anyway, get your fucking shit together and apologize.  If not, I’ve got a date with you and my iron axe.”

As she walks away, my heart cringes.

I think she is serious.


	10. Chapter 10

**2009**

“I can’t believe you got bitch slapped,” Jovi taunts.  I flip up my middle finger, and he responds by flicking my hotel piece off of Boardwalk, sending it clear across the room.

“What the hell?”  I whine, going to retrieve the red plastic house. 

“It’s half your fault,”  Delly states matter-of-factly while rolling the dice indifferently.  She exhales when she gets a nine, which will allow her to bypass my barrage of properties. We’ve reached that intense, cut-throat part of the game.

“My fault?  I’m not the one who slept with her,” Jovi defends.  

“Yes, your fault.  You’re the one who gave him all that bullshit advice,” she argues.  Her eyes are practically blazing.

“Hey, hey.  My advice is not bullshit.”

“Really?  Is that why you told him to act like a sleazebag?”  

“Oh, come off it Delly.  He’s not in preschool.  This is what guys do.”

“No, that’s what guys like _you_ do, not Peeta.  You and Mitch need to stop filling his head with nonsense,” she fires.  

“ _I_ didn’t do it,” echoes a voice from behind us.  In that moment, Mitch is on display.   He has risen from his afternoon slumber in nothing but sweatpants.  They sit low on his hips, revealing more than any of us care to see.

“Well, look who decided to crawl out of bed,” I tease.  It’s five in the evening.  He rubs his flat belly as he looks around the fridge.  I watch disdainfully as he opens a carton of orange juice and begins drinking directly from the container.

“Couldn’t find a shirt, Mitch?”  Delly asks.

“Nah.  Can you lend me yours?”  He responds, wiggling his eyebrows.  

“Fuck!”  Jovi yells, throwing his hands up in the air.  I look down to see his game piece has landed on my property.  He is clearly bankrupt at this point.  

“Whatever, I’m done anyway.  I don’t feel like being yelled at anymore.”  Jovi says this as he glares over at Delly.

“Maybe someone needs to yell at you,” she spits.

“Whoa, whoa.  What are we talking about here?”  Mitch looks dumfoundedly at us, trying to gauge the conversation.  He talks with his mouth half-full of a sticky honey bun.

“We’re talking about the two of you teaching your brother to be an asshole,” Delly says.  I quietly start packing up the Monopoly board.  Our game is clearly over and it’s an excuse for me to steer clear of the conversation.

Mitch scoffs at this and rolls his eyes.  “Oh, please.  We couldn’t corrupt Peeta if we tried.  He’s too much of a damn do-gooder;  believes in hard work, soulmates, humanity... you know, all that sappy shit.”

Delly’s eyes pierce Mitch.  She looks like she might strangle him at any given moment.

Mitch gleams a toothy smile at her before taking another bite of his honey bun.  “You know Delly, you should really lighten up.  Life isn’t that serious.”

“Maybe you should go fuck yourself,” she retorts.

“Only if you watch.”

“And that’s my cue,” Jovi exclaims wide-eyed, leaving the room.  

Delly stands dangerously close to Mitch, her expression vivid and full of anger.  “Would it kill you to learn some manners?  You need to figure out how to talk to a girl without your dick being involved.”

Mitch shakes his head.  “I promise, when it comes to women, my dick will _always_ be involved.”

Her hand quickly strikes against the front of his cheek.  It automatically becomes a hot pink.  I watch as she then furiously grabs her coat and throws it on, all the while her hands shaking. 

Mitch just stands in shock.  I go to grab her arm, but she shakes me off.

“I need to go,” Delly pleads.  She looks over at Mitch one last time.  “Vivian Carter should have slapped _you_ across the face.”

When the door closes, we can only stare at it in awe.

“I think I’m in love,” he whispers.

I sit with my head in my hands, trying to not laugh.  “Out of everything that just happened, that’s what you gathered?”

He nods, completely amazed.  “Please, _please_ tell me you’ve seen her naked.”

“No!”  Delly is my best friend.  I just don’t think about her like that.  It’s too weird.

“It doesn’t matter.  One day I’ll get there.”

* * *

**Present**

“Peeta, get up.  You have to go,” my mother bellows.  It’s 6:30 a.m. and I’m still in bed.  I can’t bring myself to move.  I don’t want to deal with anything.

“Ma, I don’t feel that great.”  This is a lie, of course.

She walks over to the curtains and whips them open, displaying the early morning sun.  I use the blankets to shield my eyes.  She then rips them off of me.

“Peeta Mellark, get out of this bed now.  I am your mother, and I can take you out of this world just as quickly as I brought you into it.”

I get up.

I wish there was a way to make yourself invisible, to hide from everything.  My feelings are entirely discombobulated.  I feel like I’m hanging on by a thread. 

I’m also extremely late.  I don’t get to school until second period English, where Cato is sitting at his desk.

“Welcome to the thunder-dome, Mellark.  So glad you could join us,” he teases.

“Yeah, yeah,” I moan while sliding into my seat.  I immediately bury my face in my arms, shutting out the rest of the world. 

I’m so glad school is over next week.

“What’s your deal?”  Cato asks.

“Life,” I answer, bringing my head back up.

“I heard you’re going to Prom with Melanie Platt.  Can’t be all that bad,” he says.  I groan, and run my hands through my hair.  People just don’t get it.

“I’m uh, actually probably not.”

“Going with Melanie?  I thought you just asked her a couple of days ago?”

“ _I_ didn’t.  _Delly_ asked.  And I’m not going to Prom.”

“Dude...You have to go.  It’s like the only good thing that happens before leaving this dump.”

Later on during lunch, I see Delly and Nate sitting at our table, but I meander out of their view so I can sit by myself.  I’m not in the talking mood.

I catch sight of Katniss sitting about six tables down.  She is also by herself, head hanging low.  Immediately, I want to comfort her and a pang of guilt runs through me.  I realize just then how much I’ve missed her these last few days, but I can’t shake the apprehension I feel.  My heart is on my sleeve, and I love her so recklessly.  Fear runs through me.  Her rejection has caused my confidence to falter.  How do I know I can regain myself if she destroys me?  Despite what Johanna says about Katniss liking me, I need to know that it’s real.  And I need to hear it from _her_.   

“What the hell?”  A voice barks next to me, knocking me out of my trance.  I look up to see Delly, hands on her hips, standing over me.

“What do you want?” I ask in a morose tone, forking the pizza on my tray.

“To know why you aren’t sitting with us?”

“I just want to be left alone.”  There is this weight that has been on our relationship lately, and I can’t quite place it.

“Peet, in all the years we have been friends, you have never wanted to be alone.  What’s going on?”

“I just need to think,” I half-lie, looking over at Katniss again.  

“Come think over by us,” she proposes.  I can’t stand to look at the sad look on her face.  I let out a long sigh and shuffle my feet to stand.  I go back over to their table, where Melanie Platt has recently joined.  I stop dead in my tracks.

“Come and sit down,” Delly urges.

“Actually, I’m going to go...”  I hastily walk over to the garbage and dump my tray of food before walking out of the lunch room. I no longer have an appetite.

I’m halfway down the hallway before I hear my name being called.  I continue to walk, despite the pleading in her voice.

Then Delly is in front of me, grabbing my arm and panting from chasing after me. I don’t care if she is struggling.  I’m far too disheartened.  Fury seems to be building in me at a remarkable pace.

“Peet, what’s your deal?  You’re acting weird and avoiding everyone.”

I know I’m not acting like myself, but things seem to be spinning so out of control lately.  My heart has been torn in every which way.  Life feels so off kilter right now.  

“I just need some time,” I explain, trying to avoid it all.  I go to walk passed her, but she stops me with her strong grip.

“Peet!  Something is obviously going on.  Talk to me, please.”  She is practically begging and I can sense concern.  My internal debate dissipates quickly, and I let out my frustration.

“What did you expect Delly?  Did you expect me to go and sit at lunch with Melanie like everything is okay?  Were we supposed to walk through the hallways together, holding hands and kissing?  Fall hopelessly in love and live happily ever after?”

She stares at me, her mouth trembling.  “I thought you wanted a date--”  

“I wanted to go with Katniss,”  I interrupt.

“She doesn’t want to go, Peet...”  She says this in an empathetic, calm manner.  The one she tries to use when trying to appease someone.  This only propels my irritation.

“How do you know?!  How could you possibly know?”  I’m beyond reason at this point.  Even though my voice is carrying,  I could care less.

“This obsession is not good for you!”  Delly declares, tears coming out of her eyes.  Passersby in the hallway gawk as she brings her hands up to wipe them away, leaving her red-eyed.  It’s the second time I’ve seen her cry.  It nearly breaks my heart, but it doesn’t stop me from saying what needs to be said.

“You know, you’re the one always saying about how badly Katniss treats me.  What about you?  Do you care about anyone but yourself right now?  At least Katniss is what I _want_.  And I’m willing to fight for what I want.  But this business of pushing girls at me who I don’t even care about, as long as it’s anyone but her; that’s not fighting for what _I_ want.  That’s fighting for what _you_ want.” 

Delly’s jaw drops.  I’ve never spoken to her in such a way before, and I’ve quite rendered her speechless.

I begin to speak, practically whispering.  “When are you going to get it?  No one else matters.  It’s Katniss.  It’s always _been_ Katniss.  It’s always _going_ to be Katniss.”

“I’ve just always wanted you to be happy,” she says between sobs.

I’m tired already.  I give up.

“Then let me try,” I plead.  I’m trying to be compassionate now.  I still love her like crazy, and I know she means well.  I just need to get through to her.

She nods, her expression dejected.  I bring her to my arms for an embrace and she acquiesces. 

“I’m sorry.  I love you, Peet,” she whispers shakily.

I stare up at the ‘Congratulations Seniors!’ sign, and think about the last six years.  She has been such an integral part of my life.  How could I ever stay angry?

“I love you, too.”

* * *

I choke on the waft of cologne coming from the bathroom, where I find Mitch standing in front of the mirror, running his hands through his hair with pomade.  His beard has sharp lines reaching almost up to his ears.   I don’t think I’ve ever seen tuxedo pants so crisp, let alone on Mitch.

“Aren’t you getting ready?”  He looks at me quizically, trying to figure out why I’m still in jeans and a T-shirt.

“I’m not going,” I reply with my head down, averting my gaze.

“Peeta, go get ready,” he orders, ignoring my last words.

“Mitch, I’m not going to go and be miserable.  You guys will have more fun without me.”

“Peeta, if you don’t go and get ready right now, I’m going to call Vivian Carter myself and tell her that you want to marry her.”

“Not funny,” I declare.

“I’m not kidding,” Mitch says with a stern look.  I glare daggers at him.

“Peeta, it’s not going to be the same without you.  Go get ready, please.”  I don’t really understand why it’s so important to him that I go, but his beseeched expression leaves a pang of guilt in me. 

I let out a long sigh and head upstairs for a shower.  Since I didn’t rent a tux, I look in my dad’s closet for an old suit.  I recognize a black pinstripe one and grab it off the hanger.

When I come down, Mitch is standing at the door, ready to go.

He looks at me with pure admiration.

“Ladies of Springdale, eat your hearts out.” 

* * *

The drive to Oakmont is a quiet one.  When inquiring about why we aren’t picking up Delly, Mitch assures me that she is coming later.  It seems wierd that she wouldn’t just ride with us, and I’m almost worried that she may blow him off.

Mitch lets out a long whistle once inside the country club.  The decor is expensive and the food set-up is elaborate.  My brother immediately grabs a croissant off the hors d'oeuvres tray.

“What horseshit.  My prom wasn’t nearly as nice as this,” he grumbles.  I grab a bottle of water from a display table.  Mitch takes notice and snatches it from my hand, but I take another one, giving him a dirty look.

“What is this?  Sparking water?  What the fuck is the difference between regular water and sparkling water?  An extra dollar a ticket?”  I shrug indifferently. 

We meander over to another room filled with people.  Loud music thumps through the speakers.  I almost wonder if we should stay near the food because it will be easier to spot Delly when she arrives, but Mitch is already making his way to the dance floor.

After another half hour of standing around, I reach in my pocket for my phone to text Delly.  Much to my disappointment, it’s not there.  It’s probably in my pants at home.

Up-tempo dance music blares and I can barely hear a thing. “Mitch,” I yell, grabbing hold of his arm.  At the current moment, he is dancing with a girl I’ve never seen before.  “Have you talked to Delly?”  

“Relax, brother.  She’ll be here,” he assures me before returning to dancing.  I look around for Cato and Nate, but I can’t find either.  All I can do is examine the happy faces around me, and yearn for who’s not here.  I go and sit in a corner, hiding my head between my knees.  I should have stayed home.

“Chin up, Buff 'n Stuff,” I hear from a close proximity.  I look up and see Johanna Mason’s crass face flashing down at me.  

“Hey,” I respond morosefully.

“You owe me a dance,” she orders while pulling my wrist to the floor, giving me no time to respond.

Her small hands sit high on my hips as we dance to a song I don’t recognize.  I realize now while I’m so close to her that Johanna is actually quite attractive in a weird way.

“Don’t even think about it.  I see you looking at me.  You think Katniss is bad?  I’ll rip your heart out and stomp on it when I’m done,” she teases.

“Whatever.  Your bite isn’t nearly as bad as your bark,” I respond.  I smile while waiting for her inevitable retort.

“Well, you haven’t seen my bite just yet.  Probably should’ve since you never talked to Katniss.”  The grimace that takes over my face is involuntary.  My conscience has been guilt-stricken for the last two days because I’m too scared to deal with my feelings.

“I’m sorry.  I’ve been trying to sort everything out.  I’m going to talk to her soon. I miss her,” I answer honestly.

And in that moment, I turn to find Delly standing in front of me.  And close behind her, I catch sight of those lustrous grey eyes.  I grab my chest in attempt to catch my breath.  

Katniss is absolutely incandescent.  Her hair is loosely-curled and dangling down her back, and the light make-up she wears accentuates her features instead of overpowering them.  Her black dress, while simple enough, contours her silhouette so perfectly it nearly takes my breath away.  I try to think of a scenario where any other human being has looked as beautiful as she does in this moment, but nothing compares.

“Wow,” I manage, standing in utter amazement.  I finally catch her gaze, her expression filled with something I can’t quite place.  The more I look at her, the more my heart rythym intensifies.

“Peeta, are they here yet--”  Mitch stops in his tracks, completely blown away at sight of the two women.  His eyes magnify, intensely staring.

“Whoa,” he gasps.

“That’s all you’re going to say?”  Delly asks in disbelief.  Her hair shines like silk and gently grazes the teal shoulders of her gown.

“Huh?”  His face wears bewilderment before it hits him.  He then straightens his shoulders and adjusts his tie nervously before clearing his throat.

“Oh, um... Delly, uh, your rack looks great.” 

Delly rolls her eyes.  “Great.  Now that we have that taken care of, let’s go and get this over with.”  She grabs his hand and leads him away.  It’s then that I notice Johanna has disappeared, leaving Katniss and me to ourselves.

“Hi,” I weakly get out.  She is far from me, and people are walking between the two of us.  I close a small amount of distance so we have fewer distractions.

“Hi,” she mumbles.  Her left hand has a death grip on her right wrist.  It almost appears to be nerves, but I can’t quite place it.

“You came,” I announce in amazement.  An all-too-familiar heat returns in my stomach.   

“I did,” she nods.  “Delly... she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”  She chuckles slightly while saying this.  

I look back at my best friend, whose grin is as wide as I’ve ever seen it.  Her body is dancing against Mitch’s as they shout out lyrics to some popular dance song.  Johanna is by them, stealing glances back at us.  

I have a feeling this was all planned.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”  I ask.

“That they were all up to this?  Pretty much a given.”  Her shoulders relax and she appears more at ease.  We watch them from a distance, chuckling as Delly smacks Mitch’s hand.

“So, how exactly did she convince you to come?”  I inquire.

“Well, it was Delly and Johanna really.  Delly lent me this dress and helped with...”  Katniss’ hand motions over her face, denoting the make-up and hair.  

“Well, you look great,” I assure her.

The dance music stops and a dramatic melody begins.

That fluttering in my stomach returns, and it seems preposterous that I was almost willing to give this feeling up.  How foolish.  Nothing will ever compare.  I can’t push her away any longer, nor do I want to.  All the reassurance I need is standing here, in front of me.  

“Dance with me?”  I ask, holding out my hand.  And it’s probably the only time I ever will ask.  I hate dancing, and I know I’m going to make myself look like an idiot, but I don’t care.

She grabs my hand as we make our way to the crowd.  I immediately relish in the warmth of her touch.  My heart swells.  I want her this near, always.

Her hands make their way around my neck as we move our feet.  Our cheeks rest against one another’s gently.  Aside from the night in her bed, this is the closest we’ve ever been.  She smells of woodfire again, and it takes all my strength not to bury my face in her neck.

_I don’t quite know_

_how to say_

_how I feel_

“I’m sorry,” I manage.  “I was a total jerk.  I should’ve never gotten mad.  It was a stupid thing to be upset about.”  My heart is thumping wildly. 

“Doesn’t matter,” she whispers, pulling me closer and closing even more distance between us.  Our chests are pressed flush against each other.

_If I just lay here_

"Does that mean you forgive me?”  I ask fretfully.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” she replies.

_Would you lie with me, and just forget the world?_

“Well, I’m glad you are.  And you look amazing,” I tell her.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so beautiful in my life.”

Katniss blushes slightly at this.  “Do you tell that to all your dates, or just me?”  She taunts with an evil smile.

“Hey, I dumped my other date,” I protest.

“Good,” she replies.

_All that I ever was_

_Is here in your perfect eyes_

_They’re all I can see_

I idiotically step on her toes, but she doesn’t flinch or move away.  “Sorry,” I groan.  “I suck at dancing.”

She smiles at me graciously.  “You’re fine,” she tells me while caressing my cheek.  When did everything become so effortless with her?

“Please tell me I’m not dreaming and you’re really here,”  I inquire wistfully, our feet no longer moving.  I just admire her from up-close as her hand lays still on my face.  Katniss gazes at me once more, her eyes still searching for something. I honestly forget where I am, and it takes me a second to regain my composure.  It’s not the first time she’s made me feel like this.  

“Real,” Katniss whispers.

* * *

**2011**

It’s pretty much an unspoken rule that Mom sits next to Dad at any social event, so I automatically move one seat down.  My knees uncomfortably hit the back of the chair in front of me.  I think about how my legs have grown long, remembering a time when they barely hung off the seat.  The years go by so quickly.  Things used to be different.  Up until recently, Mitch and Jovi would be joining us at the Spring Series concert.  But now, since they’ve graduated, my parents don’t demand their attendance.   

Mr. Mills retired last year, leaving Professor Trinket to now host the event.  Her elaborate make-up and curls light the stage, and we all stare at her before the microphone.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” she boasts.  “It’s Springdale’s 74th Annual High School Spring Series Concert.  May your loved ones do wonderful things tonight.”

She is much more melodramatic than Mr. Mills.

Nothing about the event has changed much over the years.  Back in middle school I kept telling myself how much better the talents would become in high school, but how wrong I was.  It didn’t take me long to figure our expectations grow with age.  So, those that were mediocre before remained mediocre.  The only real difference in older age is that people grasp more quickly when they are and aren’t talented.  Oddly enough, though, it doesn’t stop everyone.

When the evening is nearing a close, I see Katniss approaching the lonely piano again.  Her braid rests against her collarbone, and she is dressed in elegant slacks and a shirt.  My chest tightens, stomach twirls.  It’s like sixth grade all over again.

Her fingers drum down on the keys, but this time she doesn’t sing.  I can’t say I’m disappointed however, because her piano medley is breathtaking.  At one point when the rhythym is slowed and softened, I find myself lost.  I forget everything and the stage spins.  I imagine a place where it’s just me and Katniss.  She plays the piano every morning and I make her breakfast, watching her perched on her bench.  In the afternoons we bake in our restaurant together, kissing each other’s lips and stealing loving glances.  At night, I would carry her off to bed where we fall asleep in each other’s arms as she sings to me.

And just for a moment, the world aligns.

* * *

**Present**

The night is ending rapidly.  Just as we’re getting ready to leave, Johanna and I lean against the wall, observing everyone from a close distance.  We’re almost like watchtowers of some sort.

“Whatever you did, whatever you said -- thank you,” I tell her.  I don’t want to leave tonight without making it known.  She scoffs at me just before averting her gaze back to Katniss, who has her arms wrapped around Mitch, saying goodbye.

“I didn’t do it for you genius, I did it for her.”

“Well, either way...”

Katniss’ eyes meet mine across the room, and she is giving me that same, searching look she did earlier.  It sends chills through me.  I’m still learning her, and I can’t quite define it yet.  

I laugh as moments later I see Cato leave with his arm draped over Glimmer, the two completely enamored with one another.  Something must be in the air -- romance seems to be blossoming all over the place.

Something jingles and hits the floor in front of me.  I notice it’s Mitchs keys, and pick them up in confoundment.  I’m not exactly sure why he is giving me these.

“Take them,” he orders.  “Delly, Jo and I are going to some hotel party uptown.  They need you to take Katniss home,” he says with a soft smile.  My body tenses at the thought, and I’m sensing this is another plot amongst the three of them.

“What about the girls?”  I ask, actually concerned.

“Don’t worry about Delly and Johanna. I won’t let anything happen to them.”

“It’s you that I’m worried about,” I admit with a chuckle.  I look over at Katniss, Johanna and Delly, who stand at the door waiting for us.  What a barrage of beautiful women.  I feel like the luckiest guy in world.

“Hey, I just told you they’ll be fine.  Trust me, brother.”  Mitch seems genuine in his effort, and he hasn’t given me a reason tonight to doubt him.  I clutch the keys in my hand and make my way back to Katniss.

“Jo and Delly are going to a party with Mitch.  Do you mind if I take you home?  Unless, of course, you want to join them.”

She shakes her head.  “Parties aren’t exactly my thing.”  I expected this response, but still wanted to ask.  

The ride back is quiet.  Several times I feel Katniss’ eyes on me when she thinks I’m not looking.  Finally, I glance back over at her.

“What?”  I ask through stifled laughter.  She is blushing, having been caught.

“Nothing,” she retorts.  Something has been on her mind all evening, and I’m determined to figure it out.  I reach my hand out until it finds hers, linking them together.  I exhale in contentment.  

Upon arrival to her house, I get out and open the door for her.  There are no snide remarks about being able to do it herself.  I half expect her to bat her hand away when I entwine it with mine again, but no such thing happens.  We just walk to her front door together, easy peasy.

A light breeze picks up, but it’s still fairly warm outside.  I watch Katniss closely as she looks down at her feet, examining the open-toed dress shoes she wears.  Her feeble attempt to act like she is doing something is faily miserably.  

Anything to avoid my gaze.

I decide to make a joke of it.  “I hope your feet don’t hurt too badly.  God knows how many times I stepped on them.”  She shakes her head while slightly laughing.  

“No, they’re fine,” she ensures, fidgeting slightly.  Katniss finally looks up at me, displaying her astounding beauty.  I can feel the pulse of her wrist against my hand.  It’s beating fiercely. 

I lean down and gently touch my lips to hers for only a brief moment.  When I pull back, her eyes are still closed as though she is waiting for more.  I use this moment to lean my forehead against her shoulder, basking in her closeness.

“I wish today could never end.  It was so perfect.  You’re so perfect...”  I veer off, my train of thought losing its momentum.  I can’t concentrate because she smells so impossibly good... 

“It doesn’t have to,” she says, pulling away to open the door.  I just stand there, unsure of what to do.  Is she inviting me in?   It’s after midnight.

She awaits me in the middle of her living room.  The door is still wide open and her arm gestures for me to get inside.  My heart is pounding when I enter the dark room, shutting the front door behind me.  I can barely make Katniss out in the dark as she takes off her shoes.

She walks over to me and grabs my hand while holding up a single finger to her lips.  “Shh,” she says while leading me to her bedroom.  “Prim’s asleep,” she whispers.

Katniss turns on a dimly-lit lamp in her bedroom and shuts the door behind us.  I desperately want to say something, anything really, but I’m afraid of how it will come out.  She has always been the decider of terms throughout the course of this relationship.  And I just know that I will follow her to the ends of the earth if that’s what she wants.

I sit in the desk chair, watching her intently.  That look is there that she has been giving me all night.  It’s becoming more apparant now what exactly it means, and Katiss seems more self-assured in this moment than I’ve ever seen her.  She stands over me, eyes blazing as she grabs my hands.   Obviously emboldened, she manuevers herself on my lap.  I am overtly aware of the fact that she is in a dress and straddling me.  A shudder courses through me and it takes all I have to steady my breathing.  As seemingly real as my past dreams felt, they are feeble in comparison to this moment. 

Katniss’ warm lips press into mine.  There is a passionate need lingering through them. Maybe it’s a pent-up frustration from emotions, or maybe she just plain wants me, but it’s still there nonetheless.  I like the way her slightly calloused hands feel against my neck.  Her fingertips graze my collar bone, gracefully traveling down over my buttoned shirt.  I curiously look at her as she begins to pry those buttons loose.

“Katniss....” I manage.  I’m not sure what is happening right now, and I certainly don’t want it to be something we’ll both regret.  She blatantly disregards my attempt to bring us back to reality by crashing our lips together once more.  Her tongue slides against mine, exploring and tasting me.  Before I know it, my shirt is off and thrown into the unknown.  The sensation of her pressed against my bare skin is unnerving and my shaft twitches impetuously in response.

I almost feel bad as I run my hands through her curls, knowing it probably took hours to do.  It was an urge I couldn’t resist however, and I’m rewarded with a velvet silkiness against the tips of my fingers.  Her hands are roaming across my chest as she nuzzles my neck, and I gasp hoarsely.  Her bare thighs are dangerously close to my increasing erection.

“Katniss,” I try again with ragged breathing.  Again, she brushes me off, obviously on some kind of mission.  Her hand grasps a hold of mine, leading it up her dress and to her breasts.  In seconds, her bra is off and my fingers are hovering over a taught nipple.  Her lips come down on mine again, moaning slightly in my mouth as I roll the sensitive area between my fingers.  I’m drunk with lust.  Fireworks explode in my mind, and the dust drifting down is made of everything Katniss.  

With some form of resilience, I urge myself to come to my senses.   As long as I’ve waited for this moment, I’m not convinced it’s the right time.  I remove my hand from her dress and bring it to her face, softly stroking her cheek.

“Katniss, look at me...”  Those grey eyes find mine.  She is also in a whirlwind of desire, but I get her to focus.  “We don’t have to do this,” I point out.

“I know that,” she responds raspily, bringing her wet lips down on my neck again.

“I’m not ready,” I state.  With that, she stops and looks at me intently, almost astonished.  There is a pang of hurt in her eyes.  I immediately feel guilt-stricken, but this isn’t just any girl to me;  it’s Katniss.

“I mean, not tonight.  It’s just that I’ve dreamed about this moment for so long and I want it to be special for you.”  She looks down at me with aggravation, and I’m afraid I’ve said too much.

“Peeta, this isn’t my first time,” she asserts. 

And with that, my heart sinks.

But what did I expect?  I knew it was a possibility.  Before me came Gale.  That’s just the way it is.  He gets that part of her and I don’t.  _Accept it and get over it_ , I tell myself.

No wonder she kisses like the devil.

Her lips start to outline my jaw, bringing me back to.  Finally, she whispers, “Peeta, I’m here with you now and I need you.”

And with that, I bring my mouth to her neck, sucking and nibbling at her sensitive spot.  When my fingers find her hard nipples again, I pinch fiercely.  Her hips writhe at my throbbing member in response and she gasps quietly.  It doesn’t suprise me that Katniss, someone of so few words, barely makes audible noises in the throes of passion.

I let my fingers linger on her stomach momentarily, ever so slowly leading them downward.  I watch her facial reactions during this;  eyes closed tight with her teeth sunk into her bottom lip.  It’s about all I can take.

And I stop as I feel her dampness, looking up at Katniss, waiting for her approval.  She moves her knees on me in encouragement, and I wonder if her legs are getting tired from this position.  I don’t dare move us though.  I only feel those wet curls, am entirely intoxicated from everything about her.  I memorize every centimeter of her face as I sink a finger slowly inside, enticing the softest whimper.  Her walls surround me so incredibly tightly, and my world becomes dizzy the minute I wonder how good it would feel around something else. 

Gradually, a second finger is inserted, and I curl them deep inside of her, rocking my hand back and forth.  Katniss’ hands grasp ahold of the back of the chair as I pump slowly.  For a second, I think she may knock us over.  She is frenzied and breathless when her lips find me again, and a delicate moan against my ear nearly sends me over the edge myself.  I angle my arm up, sinking in one more finger, burying myself deeper in her wetness than before. When I bring my thumb up to circle that sensitive spot that so begs to be touched, she softly cries out.  I feel a tensing coursing through her.  She stiffens and I know she’s close.  With the next firm curl of my fingers I feel her shudder and go limp in my arms.  My heart accelerates.  _I just did that for her._

She rests her forehead against the crook of my neck, hair tousled, desperately panting, body limp.  In this moment I think I could paint the sky for her, build her a house, write her a book, anything.  I could literally do anything.

I bask in Katniss’ warmth against me, wanting the moment to last just a little bit longer.  The bottom of her dress is bunched up around my lap, and it will probably need to be dry cleaned.  I go to move the hair out of her face, and notice a steady pace in her breathing.  It’s then that I realize her eyes are closed, and she is slumbering.

I let out an exhausted chuckle, and carry her over to the bed.  I slowly walk to the bathroom, drinking in the sad reality of the situation right now.

I’m so hard I could chip ice.


	11. Chapter 11

**2004**

I hide under the kitchen table as my mother knocks a crystal vase off the counter.  Glass loudly shatters on the floor and my father, who is normally a calm man, is infuriarated.  He raises his voice, yelling at her to ‘stop acting crazy’ and demands that she pick up the mess she made.  Instead of doing so, she just yells more, escalating the argument further.

They don’t fight often.  Generally, only when one does something to really agitate the other.  Before, they would fight about money -- but that hasn’t been an issue in our house for so long that it rarely comes into conversation anymore.  On this particular day, they seem to be arguing about something that happened at the supermarket a few hours prior.

Mother takes a tea cup off the kitchen table and aggressively whips it against the wall.  Small, white pieces explode everywhere like shrapnel, and I find myself trembling.  I’m scared.  I want to scream at them, try to make them stop, but the words don’t come out.  Instead, I go to run and carelessly my foot lands on a shard.  I cry out in pain.

“God damn it, look what you’ve done!”  My father immediately comes to my aid, examining my heel.  I feel him cradle me in his large arms as he walks me to the bathroom.  He sets me down on the counter and runs my foot under the sink, using a cloth to apply pressure.  

“I’m sorry, son.  Today hasn’t been a good day,” he manages wanly.  I watch as blood dampens the white towel.

“Are you okay?”  he asks.  I tell him yes, and ask him the very same question.  

He nods at me, weakly smiling.  His blue eyes look tired, distressed.  “Don’t worry about me.  Let’s worry about you,” he tells me.

“Do you hate Mom?” I ask curiously as he pours alcochol on the bottom of my foot.  It sizzles, and I instinctively move away from the harsh liquid.  His hand stills me while his words reassure me.

His dark expression fades and is overtaken with a strained smile.  “Why Peeta, heavens no.  Why would you ever ask a thing like that?”  

I shrug my shoulders, despite the thoughts spinning in my mind.  Other kids at school have divorced parents.  Anything could happen.  “I just thought you might, since you fight sometimes,” I answer.  “Sometimes you guys get mean.”

I wince as my father wipes a cotton ball at my wound gently.  Always so attentive, he is. Quickly after, he applies a Band-Aid over the area and pats my leg lovingly. 

“Peeta, I love your mother very much.  Fighting -- that’s just a part of it.  When you stop talking and fighting with one another, that’s when you worry.”

Still on the counter, our eyes are not far from one anothers.  I look up at him, slightly lost in his words.  Fighting doesn’t exactly seem like a good thing.  Maybe I’m too young to really comprehend what he is saying, or maybe I’m not familiar with healthy human interaction.  Either way, it’s not making sense to me.

“Peeta, people aren’t always going to get along.  There are people who fight everyday, and still love each other to the moon and back.  Your mother and I -- we only fight because there is something worth fighting for.  That’s how it should always be, son.  Remember that.” 

* * *

**Present**

Levitated.  The word that best describes how I wake up feeling.  The things that I could never do before, the things that I had only dreamed of doing -- like lying next to her and watching her sleep or kissing her lips;  such things are only an arm’s reach away from me now.  I no longer need to have an internal debate over entwining her hand with mine. Everything has changed, and what a difference it makes.  It’s ensuring.  It’s divine.  It’s _better_.

She isn’t next to me when I wake up, but a note on her night stand says that she is at work and will get ahold of me later.  It’s probably better anyway, considering I never went home last night.  I’m honestly surprised I don’t have fifteen missed phone calls on my cell.

My drive home is short, and I catch myself singing along to the radio.  I imagine my life as a sitcom episode, the windows down, wind running through my hair as I belt out cheesy love songs.  It’s as though nothing can wipe the smile from my face.  That is, until I open my front door.

Delly is tiptoeing through the kitchen, wearing Mitch’s boxers and a tank top, trussled hair strewn about.  As I stare at her and try to process the situation, she looks over at me with a depleted face, caught as though on candid camera.

“Peeta -- this, this isn’t what it looks like,” Delly stammers.

“Really?  Because it looks like you slept with Mitch.”  I stare at her blankly, awaiting a response.

“Not like you think it happened, though.”

I put my hand up, interrupting her, telling her that I don’t want to hear it.  I surely don’t want to know any details.  I just need a minute.  The wheels in my head are spinning at a remarkable pace.  There is a thudding in my ears.  Does she understand the ramifications of her actions in the least?

“Please tell me you were drunk last night.”  Hope. Pray. Plead.  All of the above.  

“We weren’t, no.”  She is staring at the ground in front of the counter, standing still as ever.  

My feelings are all over the place on this one.  

I don’t know who to be more angry with, her or Mitch.  Probably Mitch.  But I’m trying to let it subside so I can understand where exactly my outrage is coming from.  I examine her from a distance, allowing my mind to progress through the lingering moments.  

“I thought you didn’t even _like_ Mitch.  Now you’re what?  A couple? Fuck buddies?”

Her eyes come back up to meet mine, her expression becoming irritable.  “I don’t know!  Everything just happened Peeta.  Why are you so mad about this?  Didn’t _you_ just get home?  It’s pretty much the pot calling the kettle black at this point.”

I look away, mostly because I know she’s right.  I don’t have a legitimate reason to be angry.  I don’t have claims to her.  She’s a young woman, free to do as she pleases with whomever she pleases.  My palms rest on my hips, and I attempt to control my mounting aggravation.

“I’m not mad.  I’m just ... worried you’re making a mistake,”  I lie.  I am mad.  I’m fucking livid. 

“Is this about me or you, Peeta?  Because I’m calling bullshit.  You’re a horrible liar, always have been.”

Mitch comes into the kitchen shirtless.  Again.  I’m starting to wonder if he thinks he is Matthew McConaughey.  Like wearing a shirt is optional for him, but necessary for the rest of society.

“What’s up, brother?  I see you found your way home,” he teases, giving me an elaborate wink.  His arm makes its way across Delly’s back and around her hip.

“I see you did, too,” I comment snidely.

Mitch gives a baffled look over at Delly, whose own face is filled with embarrassment.  She shies away from Mitch, her eyes giving him a pleading gaze.  Mitch’s face turns back to me again, and  I realize that I have no right to feel like this right now.  Quickly, I dart away, up the stairs and to my room, locking the door behind me.  

So much for levitation.

* * *

I notice it on my way to work the following morning.  I’m not sure why I didn’t dream it up sooner, but it hits me like a ton of bricks.  For the rest of the day it’s all I think about.  I drive past it again on my way home just to make sure it’s still there.  There’s a catch, though.

I need help.  I can’t do it on my own.

I suck up my pride.  Standing on the other side of his door, I wait for Mitch to answer.  He appears, his expression desolate, concerned, pissed off.  He probably has every right to be, but I don’t have time for that.

“I need your help.”

He scoffs and goes to shut his bedroom door in my face, but the heel of my foot doesn’t allow this.  My eyes plead for his assistance.  

“Why should I help you?”  Mitch asks sternly.

“Because I’m your brother.”

“Brothers don’t act like dicks to each other,” he fires.

He’s really going to make me do it.  I don’t want to, but I succumb because I’m that desperate.  “Mitch, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?  Sorry that Delly isn’t talking to me right now?  Sorry that you made her feel like a total idiot?  Sorry that you made me look like a dick?  Which part, Peeta?”

“All of it,” I admit.  “But we have to leave now.  Please, Mitch.  It’s really important to me.”

He lets out a heavy sigh and meanders back by his closet, grabbing his shoes.  Meanwhile, I fetch Jovi, begging him just as I did Mitch for his help.

Once we are all downstairs, I grab the keys to the F-150.  

“Let’s go.”

The sky is nearly black when we go to leave.  I drive back to where I last saw it, sitting near the edge of the curb waiting to be thrown away.  The small upright piano’s condition is cosmetically poor, and I have no idea how integrally damaged it is.  Its wood is deteriorating in some areas and one of the legs is visibly broken.  I examine underneath it closely, but with no idea what I’m supposed to be looking for, it’s pointless.  My imagination runs wild, and I visualize a mended replica of what’s in front of me, sitting in Katniss’s living room.  

I at least want to try.

“Why are we picking up an old, broken piano?”  Jovi asks as I stare down at it.

“Because I want to fix it,” I answer.

“Peeta, you’ve never played a piano in your life,” Mitch points out.

“It’s not for me.”

Jovi nods his head and a smile creeps across his lips.  “It’s for Katniss, isn’t it?”  I nod in reply.

Mitch offers words of his own on the matter.  “Brother, pianos are not something you can just _fix_.  You have to know what you’re doing.  Which, I hate to point out, you don’t.”

“I get it,” I say to them.  “But can’t a guy at least try?”

“You should practice what you preach,” Mitch spits, giving me a glare.  I look back at him unnerved, not understanding what he is trying to convey.

Clouds are moving perilously in the sky.  Mitch no longer quibbles and the bickering stops.  We heave and hoist the piano in the back of the truck, rain pouring down on us.  Even with three strong men, the instrument proves to be extremely heavy.  You wouldn’t think it would be when looking at its small frame.

Soaked and tired, we drive back to the house and move the piano into the garage. Just as we finish, the rain finally stops, and we can only gaze up at the sky.  I chuckle slightly, cursing the weather gods for treating us so poorly.  Jovi mutters under his breath and Mitch just stands there, gawking at me.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he answers just before walking in the house, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

**2011**

“Peeta, hurry up!  Stop jerking off!  We need to leave!”  

Mitch’s voice bellows from the bottom of the stairwell just as I finish putting my socks on.  Despite being towel-dried, my blond curls are still slightly damp from my shower.  I desperately search for a shirt that isn’t a wrinkled mess and settle on a plain, white button-up hanging in the back of my closet.  

Mitch is standing at the door waiting for me impatiently, urging me to hurry up.  He jingles the car keys in his hand as I hurriedly slip on my shoes, almost beckoning me like a dog.  I resist the urge to flip him my middle finger.

Once in the car, Mitch hands me a small black book before backing out of the driveway.

“What is this?”  I ask, holding it up before me.  

“It’s your lifeline, brother.  Don’t lose it.”  I look over at him, trying to read his expression, but he is attentive to the road ahead.

I open the first page, which clearly has a list of things layed out in numerical order.  The first one states _Rule #1:_   _If it’s all at possible, never, ever give your number away.  You will only regret it later._

“Mitch, what the hell?  Is this your your guide to being a man-whore?  I’ve gotta be honest, I’m not really that interested.”  I go to put the book in the dashboard compartment, but he hastily closes it back up with his free hand, forcing the little book back in my lap.  

“Trust me, you’ll need this for where we’re going tonight.”  I immediately bring my hand up to my forehead, massaging my temples.  What kind of wild goose chase is he taking me on?  The evening promised is supposed to involve playing pool with Cato and Nate, then getting ice cream.  What is in store now becomes a mystery.

 _Rule #4:_   _Pretend to understand, but know:  No women will ever be understood.  Don’t try.  You will only fail._

“Mitch, please tell me you didn’t write this.”

With a booming smile, Mitch responds in a way that only he could.  “Peeta, of course I did.  No other man could possess such genius, clearly demonstrated on that very paper.”

I roll my eyes, continuing to flip through the pages.  

 _Rule #7:_   _There is no such thing as a platonic female friend.  In the end, she wants to touch your dick._

I shake my head at this.  “Number seven is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.  I’ve been best friends with Delly almost my whole life.”

Mitch quickly glances back at me, shaking his first finger in my general direction.  “Don’t be so sure, brother.  You never know.”

I ignore Mitch and skip forward to end of the book.  _Rule #10:_   _Under no circumstances ever shall a man tell a woman he loves her, unless it is absolutely, undoubtedly true.  To use this under sexual duress is the ultimate dick-head move, and is not advised._

Just as I throw the book down on the passenger-side floor, Mitch pulls into the Snookers Pool Hall parking lot.  I sigh in relief, thankful that he has decided to stick to our original plans.  Sometimes spending time with Mitch means that you’re flying by the seat of his pants.

Mitch locks the car and I head for the door.  It’s a cold, bitter January, and my jacket is light.  He catches up with me and forcibly pushes the little black book into my abdomen.  I give him a questioning glance, and roll my eyes once he starts lecturing me again.  

“I told you not to lose this.  That whole bit with Vivian Carter?  That would have never happened had I been around.  Now, keep that in your pocket until the night is over.”

Two young women await us in the dimly-lit building, screeching and running toward us once they see Mitch.  I give him an angry glare, ready to throttle him if at all possible.  It’s my own fault, really.  I should have known this was a set-up all along.

“Peeta, this is Lyla and Crystal.  They’re going to join us tonight.”  Crystal, the redhead, wraps her arms around Mitch eagerly.  Lyla, the brunette, moves closer to me than I care for her to be.  I clear my throat and excuse myself to the bathroom, grabbing Mitch’s arm along the way.

“What the hell?” I ask.

He looks up at me, handsome as ever, teeth pearly white.  “Brother, don’t blow this for me.  I’ve been trying to set this up for months.  They work at the Hooters over in Pittsburgh.”

I shake my head once more and let out a deep sigh.

_This is my life._

* * *

**Present**

Later on that evening, I stop at Delly’s.  Aunt Linda gives me a warm greeting at the door and goes to obtain her.  When she doesn’t immediatley come down, I near the end of the staircase to hear what’s happening.  It’s then that I can hear Linda’s coercion, and Delly finally comes down to speak to me.  We go to the sunroom, where the open windows allow the spring air to breeze through and the setting sun glistens against the wood paneling.  I sit down on the built-in bench across from her as she leans against the wall.

“Hey,” I voice, breaking the silence.  The air is thick.  It seems as though we have been frequenting such predicaments lately, and it usually ends with me apologizing at some point or another.  

“What do you want?”  Her tone is short, blatant.  This is her wall she puts up.  Trying to act like nothing effects her, even though it clearly does.  In reality, Delly is much more sensitive then she lets on.  I can’t help but look at her, and what a vision she is in her yellow sundress, shoulder-length curls frizzing in the early May humidity.  Even if she is looking at me as though she wants to tear my throat out, she is still exquisite.

“I just wanted to apologize.  I didn’t mean to upset you and Mitch so much.  I guess I was just... shocked,” I admit.  “And nervous.  I don’t want to lose my best friend.”

“Peeta, I don’t know what you expect from me.  I told you how I feel.  You chose Katniss.  Now that I slept with Mitch, you’re acting crazy.”

I uncomfortably laugh at this.  “Me acting crazy?  You slept with Mitch.  _Mitch_.  As in, my brother, the pig-headed skirtchaser who you can’t stand.”

“It shouldn’t matter to you who it was.  I’m not your girlfriend, Peeta.”

“No, but you’re my best friend.  I don’t want my best friend running around with some guy who sleeps with half the women in Pennslyvania.”

“Who I run around with isn’t your business,” she retorts icily.  I look back at her, letting her words fill my senses and course through me.  They are like small pins piercing my heart.  

“He’s not who you think he is,” she says after a few moments of heavy silence.

“So now Mitch isn’t a womanizer?”

“I’m not so sure,” Delly voices.

“Delly, how many times have you stayed at my house and seen the women come and go?  How many times have you yourself told me not to follow in Mitch and Jovi’s footsteps?  How many times? So what’s changed from then and now?”

“He told me that he is in _love_ with me.  Okay?!?”  She kicks her foot off the wall and begins pacing back and forth.  I just stare with my mouth agape, trying to conjure up something meaningful to add to the conversation.  I decide it’s best to be still, and I patiently await her next words.

“It sounds stupid, doesn’t it?  He was probably just lying to get in my pants. Maybe you were right.  God, I hate you.”  Delly starts panicking from my silence.  Her hands cover her face as she continues pacing.  It’s almost as though she might start hyperventilating.  I stand and walk over to her, attempting to steady her hysteria.

This whole situation is flabbergasting to say the least.  Delly’s confession has me rattled.  Between Mitch bending over backwards to take her to prom and now professing his love, how can I deny it’s truth?  I know my brother and how he operates.  He has never in his life told a  woman that he loves her, our mother being the obvious exception.  

Point being, he wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it.

“Delly, he wouldn’t lie about something like that,” I explain.  “I’m sorry.  I just overreacted.  I didn’t know he felt like that.”  Or maybe I did, and I’ve just been too blind to see it.

“Yeah?  Well neither did I. Believe me, this wasn’t planned.”

She sits on the bench, eyes dry but red, and as vulnerable as I’ve ever seen her.  Delly has never been with anyone before, and the idea of her first time being a mistake is scaring her shitless. I watch as her leg restlessly bobs up and down with anxiety.

I’m immediately aware of my shortcomings in this moment.  The fact that I’ve been a pretty terrible friend as of recently isn’t exactly thrilling.  But I want to make up for it.  So I do exactly what it is that I do best -- I talk it out.

“So what are you thinking now?  Do you love him back?”  She looks over at me with apprehension, probably afraid of my reaction, but I give her a reassuring smile.

Delly shakes her head no.  “Not right now.  But I think I could.  He’s actually really sweet when he wants to be.”

“Well, then maybe you should call him.”

“And say what?”  I try to hide my laughter, because in all of this, some form of irony dwells.  Who would’ve thought that Mitch would be on the reciprocating end of unreturned phone calls.  But here we are, and his heart is hung out to dry while he anxiously waits for Delly’s answer.

“Tell him what you just told me.  Honesty is all you can give him.”  She gazes up at me, confused, maybe even more so than before. But that’s to be expected.

After a moment she looks up at me and says, “I swear, you’re like the vagina whisperer.”

* * *

She is sitting on the couch when I arrive.  Prim’s head is resting on her lap while Katniss strokes her smooth blonde hair.  I try to hide my veneration, but it’s no use.  Together they are striking beauties, and I can’t help the awed tingling sensations running through my veins.

It’s nearly ten at night on a Sunday, and probably too late to be visiting, but I yearn to be close to Katniss.  After almost forty-eight hours without her near, something just didn’t feel right.  But what I feel now is undeniable.  After mere seconds in her presence, I’m more at home than I’ve been in days.

“Hey, Peeta,” Prim greets with a smile as I open the screen door.  Katniss just looks at me in curious wonder.  It isn’t quite the response I’m looking for, but at least it’s not a scowl.

I take a seat in the chair across from them and offer the bag of baked goods that I brought from home.  Prim grins widely and snatches the bag from my hand, greedily scarfing down a chocolate chip cookie. Katniss shoots her a glare, and immediately begins expressing her gratitude.  I watch as those grey eyes silently admire her younger sister lovingly from a distance.

It’s odd, comparing Katniss’ relationship to Prim to mine with my brothers.  I can’t help but feel jealous at the way they undoubtedly worship one another.  Sure, Prim complains that she is overbearing, but the connection between the two of them is evident.  At the end of the day, Mitch, Jovi and I all feel love, but it’s obligatory.  Everything with Katniss and Prim is effortless.  The dynamics are so very different.

Prim excuses herself for bed, leaving me alone with Katniss.  She keeps avoiding my gaze, and it has my stomach in knots.  I lean forward from my chair and grab her hand, closing distance between us while looking directly at her.  She finally brings herself to meet my gaze and my heartbeat quickly escalates.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.  Her eyes look defeated, tired.  

“Our Mom was home all day.  She just left a few hours ago.”  I move to the couch next to her, and she doesn’t fight me when I pull her face against my chest.  Katniss just lets out a deep sigh, as though she releasing a day’s worth of frustration.  I feel her body soften in my arms as her breathing steadies.

“And how was that?”  I inquire while kissing the top of her head gently.  

“Weird.  I haven’t seen her in weeks.  She was trying to be all mom-like.”  I drag my fingers lightly through her hair, inhaling the strawberry shampoo that never gets old.  Her flesh goosepimples when I slowly knead the back of her neck, and I feel the heat from an elongated sigh as it is let out across the base of my neck.

“Is that a bad thing?”  I ask softly.  I watch carefully as her hand moves just above my sternum.  The feather-light touch still has strong effects on me, and it leaves my breathing raspy. 

“It is when 98% of the time she isn’t here.”

“Well, maybe she is trying to make up for it,” I tell her.

“Maybe she shouldn’t,” Katniss retorts.  I laugh slightly at this.  Katniss is incredibly stubborn, and I conceptualize a lifetime filled with her challenging my every statement.  There will never be a dull moment, never a day without charged passion.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I can’t help but wonder if laying on me like this has any type of effect on her, or if she realizes at all just what it is she does to me.  But I don’t let it occupy my thoughts for long. She leans forward and presses her lips into mine gently.  They feel like velvet and taste like cherries.

Our lips don’t connect for long.  She quickly goes back to my chest, curling back up in her prior position, fingers floating across my skin.  I don’t complain.  I probably never will.  I just bide my time.  Moments like these don’t come easy, and I’ve got six years worth to make up for.


	12. Chapter 12

**2008**

My grandfather’s house now has the distinct smell of plastic and mothballs.  When I think back to when my Grandmother was alive, I remember the light odor of perfume that used to linger through the house. Since her death nearly five years ago, the dynamics have drastically changed.  At first, I just notice the small differences that aren’t there anymore; like when he used to clip roses in the garden and put them out in the middle of the dining room table for her every week.  Then it became a slow, trickledown effect where he quit playing cards with his friends and stopped leaving the house.  The roses are long dead at this point, along with my Grandfather’s vibrance for life.

He is hunched over near the freezer, his gray hair standing straight up as he desperately searches for a TV dinner.  His arm struggles to reach all the way in the back, so I gently move his hand down to his side and shut the door.

“Grandpa, you can eat this stuff when I’m not here. Go sit down and let me make you some _real_ dinner.”

He pushes his glasses forward on his nose and looks up at me, baffled.  “Peeta, you’ve never cooked a day in your life.  You’re not burning my house down.  Just let me get in there.”

I move aside.  He is a stubborn old man who is stuck in his ways. He can be disheartening at times, but I don’t allow his comments to discourage me. I know how hard I’ve been working at the restaurant, shadowing my father and gaining knowledge in the kitchen. I’m no professional, but I’m certainly capable of making a simple dinner.

“I can cook. Dad’s been teaching me a few things and you can help, too. Come on. We can do it together,” I encourage.  

“Who?”

“Dad, Grandpa. As in your son?”

“Paul?” he inquires with curious eyes, looking up at me. The dementia has started to take its toll, which deters the rest of the family from visiting.  Dad’s taken it the hardest, nearly in tears every time his own father can’t seem to remember who he is.

But for whatever reason, he never forgets who I am.

I finally persuade him to let me cook. He stands over me the majority of the time, watching my every move, especially whenever a knife enters my hands.  My grandfather has never been patient, or a nice man for that matter. Grandmother had always been the exception to everything, and I can’t help but think about her in this moment. He is showing so much patience and tenderness, and it’s almost as if she were here again.

“Not bad. You’re a natural,” he tells me with pride as I flip the burgers on the stove.

I can’t quite explain the satisfaction that courses through me when he winks in my direction. His smile is as wide as I’ve seen it in years. I feel a real sense of accomplishment and pride in making him feel so incredibly happy.

“So, you like this whole cooking bit, do you now?” he asks when I carry a plate over to the dining room table.

“It’s fun. I like working with Dad,” I explain.

I can tell he’s getting tired, perhaps even a little disoriented. I try to keep him young when I visit, but have a tendency to run him ragged. In these instances, sometimes even the smallest of tasks become difficult for him.  

I place a plate in front of him and take a seat not far away.

“I see the spark in you when you talk about it,” he says. 

“When I talk about what, Grandpa?” He must be going delirious again.

“When you talk about cooking. You remind me of your Grandmother. She used to light up like that for me.”

I wish I could say that I remember her, but I don’t. I only know of the things that changed in him after she died.  Believe me when I say that I want nothing more than to make him light up again. We don’t, however, live in a world that gives things back; it only knows how to take them away. 

The air is quiet and thick for a moment. Just when I think he is done talking, he speaks again.  

“Don’t lose that, Peeta.” I look up from my plate in an abashed manner and glance back at him again. “Don’t stop caring about things. I don’t want you to end up like me. Care about everything, but especially care about the things you love.”

This is rather confusing.  Why wouldn’t I care about the things I love? _Maybe he forgot to take his pills_ , I think to myself.  I look up at the clock and wonder when he should have taken his last dosage.

“You must think I’m a crazy, old fool,” he says. His eyes are pooled with sadness, and I feel guilty for my previous thoughts.  I’ve always tried to imagine him in his prime as my father used to describe him; tough as nails, but compassionate and wise as anyone he’s ever known.

“No, Grandpa. You are the smartest guy I know,” I tell him. He chuckles between bites of food, and looks over at me with a wide grin.  

“One day, my dear Peeta, you are going to be an exceptional young man.” 

* * *

**Present**

I look across the auditorium, catching her gaze through the rows of blue gowns.  I smile when she bats away her tassel, blatantly irritated by the way it tickles the side of her face.  She doesn’t return the smile though, averting her stare elsewhere and clearly avoiding me thereafter. It’s almost enough to throw me for a loop. 

She turns her head away from my direction and peers back up at the podium. I wish she would look back, but I know she won’t. Showing me attention in public would probably fall somewhere in the sentiment category, which is non-existent in Katniss’ world. Not to mention that she likes to keep her affairs private.

It’s not like I really expect Katniss to be affectionate anyways. That’s just not who she is.  But on the other hand, it’s not as if people are completely unaware that things between her and I are...interesting, if you will. But Katniss feels inclined to act as though everyone is blind to it.

It’s not like I could explain the situation to anyone, regardless. In all honesty, I’m still not sure about what is happening between us.

The ceremony moves at an incredibly slow pace. Embarrassing middle school photos of the graduating class are shown. Unfortunately, these incriminating photos don’t exclude myself or Katniss, and I chuckle when she covers her face with mortification.  The speeches are surprisingly good, but not life altering.  After a while, I find myself softly drumming on my legs to pass the time. _Pomp and Circumstance_ is on continuous loop. By the time they start calling our names to retrieve our diplomas, I’m nearly busting out my chair.

When the ceremony is over, a thick mass floods the lobby. Everyone is doing one of two things - talking about the senior all-night party that will be taking place in just over an hour, or explaining to their family members what college they will be attending.  Some already start heading for the streamers hanging in the gym while others head for the door, never wanting to look back.  

I just search for Katniss.

When I finally get a glimpse of that braid, she is standing with her back turned to me in a corner, conversing with Gale Hawthorne. I gawk as he shifts his weight on one foot, poised with a bouquet of flowers in one hand, while the other is stuffed in the pocket of his khaki pants. His face displays a weary, defeated expression as he meets my gaze.

Katniss turns to look back, obviously distraught. The tension in the air is so incredibly heavy, I feel like I could choke on it.  Somehow, I manage to swallow the gulp in my throat as my stomach lurches. Katniss isn’t happy. Gale isn’t either, probably with what could be me intervening on a discussion that clearly isn’t meant for my ears. So I do what I think is best; with a heavy heart, I set one foot in motion and begin walking away.  I’ll never know if she looked back.

I want her to stop me, but she doesn’t. _Why doesn’t she?_

Pushing through the crowd, I end up finding my family and Delly standing in a circle near the doors.

“Oh, there he is!” my mother exclaims, coming at me with her hands in front of her, grasping for my cheeks.  Her eyes are watering as she pulls a tissue out from her purse.  I swear I let out the world’s longest sigh.  Mitch rolls his eyes, knowing she has cried at every single one of our graduations.

“We’re proud of you, son.” My father tilts his head at me approvingly while Mitch and Jovi just stand there.

“And Delly!” Jovi says gleefully with a smile, throwing his arm around her waist.  With her cap in one hand, she stands there lifelessly and lets out a half-hearted smile. I can sense the melancholy in her, and it’s evident after years of friendship exactly what it means. As much as my family loves her, they aren’t her own, and no amount of their congratulations can replace that. 

Mitch keeps stealing glances her way, particularly focusing on Jovi’s hand around her waist.  It seems like she’s doing everything she can to avert his gaze.

I suddenly feel despair in tidal waves, and look back to see Mitch’s solemn expression.  He is paralyzed.  I want to tell him that I know how he feels, that Katniss can never seem to look at me either, and...

It’s all too much.

“I’m really tired. I’m gonna head home,” I announce.

“Already? You’re not going to go to the party?” Delly asks, quite bewildered.  I shake my head at her, not really wanting to give an explanation. She is eyeing me like a hawk though, far too intuitive to let it go.

“Peeta, it’s your senior all-night party! It only happens once,” my mother adds.

“I’m not feeling that great,” I lie.  

After a bit more prodding, I finally persuade everyone to just let me leave. Just as I reach my Yukon, I hear footsteps trailing behind me.   

“Peeta, what’s going on?”  It’s Mitch, standing tall and stone faced. His voice is steady and to the point.

“I just want to go home, Mitch.”

He looks at me with fury, practically calling my bluff from three feet away. I avoid his eyes and open the car door, allowing myself to move into the driver’s seat.

“Brother, you’ve been talking about this day for the last four years. You should at least give it a go.”  I shrug in response, acting as if nothing matters to me because at the moment, it truly doesn’t.

“Did something happen with Katniss?” he asks with a concerned face. I remain silent because it’s easier than talking.  Unfortunately, it has the reverse effect, making it all the more obvious that the subject at hand is indeed what’s bothering me. Mitch lets out a deep sigh before continuing on.

“Peeta, she and Gale have a history.  You can’t expect him to not come to her graduation.”

“Yeah, I get it,” I reply harshly, not really wanting to talk about it anymore.  It’s probably irrational, but I just want to go home and drown in my own misery. There will be _Iron Chef_ and white cheddar Cheez-its involved before the night is over.

“Brother, come on. You and Delly should go to the party. She needs her best friend tonight.  Besides, you have the rest of your life to worry about Katniss.”

I shake my head.  “I don’t want to go.”

“Seriously? You’re going to let this ruin your graduation? This is fucking pathetic.”  His voice is condescending and feels like daggers taking lengthy swings at my heart.    

I squeeze the steering wheel in frustration.  “Whatever, man. I’m not going to listen to this.”

I shut the door in his face and start the engine, whipping the gearshift into reverse in a quick motion. Mitch’s words play on repeat in the back of my mind, and I know he’s probably right.  I put on a dramatic display by squealing my tires and speeding off like a madman, but I’m still in that broody mindset.

Once I get home, I go upstairs to my room and revel in anguish. I do exactly what I’d planned, which is lie in my bed with my back slumped against the headboard. With a glass of lemonade next to me, I turn on _Iron Chef_ and eat my delightful crackers.  It’s every bit as blissful and pathetic as I imagined it would be.

I hear doors closing and stirring from downstairs, but choose to ignore it.  I just hope whoever is home will leave me alone.  About twenty minutes later, a light thud comes from my door. A bit annoyed, I get up to answer it. “What? I told you earlier I don't -”

I’m stopped mid-sentence by a pair of grey eyes staring at me.  The blue cap and gown have been removed, revealing her knee-high print dress. Her hair is in complete disarray, out of its usual braid and free flowing down her shoulders.  The browns and blacks against the white of her dress bring out the olive in her skin. I’ve never seen her look more exquisite.

“What…what are you doing here?” I stammer.

Katniss looks at me quizzically.  “What? I need a reason to be here?”  She wanders over to the bed and promptly plops herself down, taking over my spot and crackers.  I watch in utter disbelief as she idly lifts the remote and points it at the television, flipping through the channels. 

_She was in the same room as me a couple of hours ago, right?_

It dawns on me that she probably doesn’t see things the way other people do, and maybe I’m just not giving her enough credit. But there is something to be said about perception and the ability to tell when someone is clearly bothered by something. This is an area where Katniss needs some serious improvement.

Still standing by the door, I gawk as she takes another swig of my lemonade.  “What would you rather watch; reruns of _Friends_ or _The Animal Planet_?”  

Her words barely register because I’m too lost in the shuffle. Katniss gives me a derisive glare and asks another question.  

“Are you just going to stand there all night?”

I’m amazed at how apathetic she is about everything, and perhaps even my own response to her indifference.  As desperately as I’ve tried not to be, I’ve slowly become her ‘beck and call’ boy, patiently waiting for her every command. I’m so hopelessly in love with her that I can be am overtly available, eager to please, or whatever she wishes me to be. 

It suddenly dawns on me that not a single shred of my self-respect remains.

I take a seat on the other side of the bed and slide my legs slowly across the bedspread, mimicking my prior position with my back pressed against the headboard.  When I’m finally situated, she passes the box of crackers over to me. I wave my hand as my way of saying no thanks.

“So, why didn’t you go to the party?” Katniss asks.

I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly. I seem to be doing a lot of this today.

“Why didn’t you go?” I ask, a bit afraid of the answer. I look over at her and await her response while crackers crunch in her mouth.

Once she finishes chewing, she finally says, “Not my scene.”

I seriously consider asking about what Gale wanted, but Katniss isn’t someone who appreciates an interrogation. I think better of it, and decide that I’d rather not risk making her angry because of my budding jealousy.

We sit in silence for a while, watching old reruns of _Friends_. Her leg comes in contact with mine several times, and I can’t help but find this reassuring in some facet. I wind up inching closer to her in order to initiate further contact. By doing so, I’m rewarded with her intermittent touches from her fingers and her arm resting against mine. 

I’m beginning to sense that when we’re alone, Katniss likes physical contact.

I nearly roll my eyes when she laughs at the sitcom. Honestly, I don’t really find it amusing, but it’s obvious that she’s enjoying it. I don’t say anything, but she catches my facial expression when a bad joke is made and glares at me.  

“What?” I ask.

“Why are you making that face?”

“What face?”

“That face,” she says, pointing at me and grinning.

“I’m not doing anything with my face. I’m just watching this amazing show,” I answer sarcastically with a smug smile.

“ _Friends_ is quality television,” Katniss retorts.

“Hardly!”

“How do you figure?” she asks quizzically.

I raise my arm up and hold out my hand in the direction of the TV. “It’s six pathetic people sleeping and living with one another.”

“And _Iron Chef_ is better?”

“Absolutely.”

“Yeah, okay,” she mockingly remarks.

“You better take that back,” I tease.

“Or what?”

My stomach does that thing again with the flips, and I look over at her. A shyness creeps through me as I examine her face from a close distance.  I’ve always known what to do in these situations, always handled myself with complete confidence.  Here and now, with Katniss, I am at a loss for my next move. If I move closer, will that be too forward? She isn’t helping either as she looks at me, unaffected as ever.

Neither one of us have mentioned what happened that night after Prom. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t replayed it in my mind a million times over, but I’m fairly certain even alluding to it would cause her to run for the hills.

When it takes me a moment to respond, she begins grinning. Her expression eventually turns wicked, and it practically unravels me. I’ve seen that look many times, but never on her. My pulse begins to beat so rapidly that it’s hard to concentrate on anything else.  I attempt to steady my breathing, never taking my eyes off of her.

I watch as Katniss positions herself so all of her weight is bearing down on her hands.  She leans over me, her breathing slightly ragged.  “Or what?” she whispers again.

I swallow the lump in my throat. Before I can react, she presses her mouth into mine.  I feel my back pressed hard against the mahogany headboard as her weight bears down on me. She tastes sour, just like the lemonade. Her lips part slightly, giving me leeway to sweep my tongue in.  A gust of her warm and inviting breath reaches my neck, leaving tingling sensations running throughout my chest and arms, all the way down to my fingertips.

I’ve felt the wet, empty lips of others before, but nothing ever like this. It’s as though I’m standing at the edge of a mountain waiting to fall, not knowing how hard I will land.  Everything is moving. I can feel her heartbeat as she hovers over me. The sound is loud and stammers in my ears. I’m also overtly aware of each instance where her skin brushes against mine. How amazing is it that the softest touch in one area can ignite my whole body, leaving me blissfully aware and perceptive?

Her kisses become more aggressive, fervent and filled with need. Katniss has aligned herself so that one of my knees is between her legs. She begins rocking herself against it as our tongues touch, with only the fabric of my pants separating her skin from mine. I hear a faint whimper release from her lips when my palms grip her hips.

Katniss’ hands reach under my shirt and run across the length of my chest. In one swift motion, it’s gone and on the floor next to us. I look up at her with curious eyes, not sure what may or may not happen from this point forward. This game is one that I’m just playing a part in; she’s in full control of the board.

Soft kisses flutter down my neck and throat, and I can feel myself stiffen.  My leg is nearly numb from her pressing so hard against it. I move my hands to touch her hair, but she grabs them before I can, pushing them against the mattress and essentially holding me captive. I lay helplessly trapped beneath her, completely astounded and aroused. When she releases my wrists and begins to unbutton my jeans, I finally speak up.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” she says with a hint of uncertainty.  It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her not be one hundred percent confident, further validating my apprehension.

“Katniss...”  I lean up, but she pushes me back down against the pillow.  I grasp hold of her hands, wanting her to recognize that what is about to happen is a serious matter and means something to me.

“Katniss, we do--” 

She cuts me off quickly. “Peeta, stop. I want you.” And with that, she lifts her dress over her head, discarding it to the floor. I practically lose my breath at the sight of her in only her underwear and immediately feel the ramifications between my legs.  She pushes me back down against the pillow again. This time, however, I don’t fight when her hand returns to my buttons.

Katniss never lets me take control. Even when I reach out to touch the scarred imperfections on her arms and legs, she pushes my hands away. Instead, I attempt to concentrate on the traces her fingertips make over my body. It’s at that moment when vertigo begins to take over. The removal of the rest of our clothes becomes lost in the haze. The only thing I can count on is how soft her lips feel and that her hair smells like wood fire when it drapes over my face.

I exhale softly when she moves directly on top of me. My bare erection is hard pressed against her thigh, and twitches slightly when she moves herself against it. Katniss doesn’t stop me when I move a hand to her nipple, rolling it softly between my fingers.  She closes her eyes, releasing a faint gasp, which leaves me completely encompassed in lust.

And then her weight is gone as she slowly moves down my torso, out of my peripheral vision.  Before I can inquire about what she is doing, I lose every thought. I feel a wet, gripping sensation on my shaft, and it’s perhaps the most blissful feeling I could ever imagine.

“Oh my God, what are you doing?”  I manage to get out. I tilt my head up to see her lips running the course of my length, making it impossible for me to imagine if anything else could feel better. Her tongue softly flickers against my tip before I feel her entire mouth engulf me, going back and forth at a slow speed. The sensations build quickly from within me. After about a minute, I’m panting and nearly to the brink of no return. Thankfully, she stops before I reach my limit, bringing herself back up to pepper kisses on my collarbone.

“Good God,” I mumble to her.

“Not yet,” she says while maneuvering herself on top of me, clutching hold of the base of my shaft and descending downward.  Once I feel myself inside her, I begin to shudder.  She’s tight, but wet and slippery at the same time. In my head, I repeatedly assure myself this is not a dream and that it really is her, which is why everything feels five times as good as it would with anyone else.

The thrusts start off slow, but as we go along, her hips crash down with haste as she rocks on my thighs. Our pumping is erratic at first, but I figure out her rhythm and begin matching my thrusts until we are moving in perfect unison.  Once we’ve got a pattern, I move the pad of my thumb to her most sensitive spot, using soft, gentle caresses to help her along. She makes soft moans of encouragement in response, and it takes every ounce of my willpower to hold off.

There is no slow build.  It’s as if the feelings behind every push or touch are amplified by a thousand.  The room is clouded with the smell of sex and sweat. I’m nearly dizzy from it, which only increases my desire. Katniss leans her head back, and I feel her body become rigid as she shudders with intensity. As this happens, I give in to the pleasure and find my own release, and together we ride the long wave of bliss that takes place for nearly a minute after. She sighs and collapses on my chest with me still inside her, her limbs falling slack. The roots of her hair are damp with sweat, and I push a single strand away from her face. I leave a gentle kiss on her shoulder and say softly, “In case you don’t know this already, I love you.”


	13. Chapter 13

**2002**

It’s a dewy morning, but I like the way the breeze sticks to my skin.  Everything smells like leaves and the air isn’t quite frigid yet. October. Everything reminds me of baseball, leaves and trick-or-treating. 

“Jesus Christ, Peeta, is that you?  You smell like a skunk,”  Mom says from the driver’s seat. I pout and lean my nose to my armpit. The odor is slightly sweet and maybe a little bit sweaty, but I hardly notice it.

 I hate taking baths, despise it even.  Every time she tries to drag me to the tub, I fight, kick and scream with the hope that she’ll get tired and give up.  Sometimes, this method works, other times it doesn’t. Last night, it happened to work.

 The morning news plays softly in the background, just as it does every morning. I watch Jovi brazenly try to change the station, but our mother’s response is too quick.  She brings her hand down on his rapidly, but not harshly. He scowls and whines momentarily, but knows better than play with Mom’s radio. I snicker when she scolds him.   

“Whatever. At least I don’t smell like B.O.,” he fires at me. I immediately feel the sting of his words, and decide to give him a swift punch on the shoulder in retaliation. 

My mother’s dominating voice bellows, “Peeta, knock it off!” 

I cross my arms and slam my back into the seat while dramatically pouting in the process.  Mom gazes into her rearview mirror at me, making me feel entirely self-conscious.  I decide to lean my nose to my armpit once more in an attempt to place the aforementioned skunk odor.  Again, it doesn’t smell bad to me. 

The rest of the drive is quiet.  Our first stop is at Springdale Middle School, where Jovi gets out.  As we drive away, I stare back at all the middle schoolers walking with their friends, free as birds. I wish I could walk to school, but Mom and Dad won’t allow it. 

When we finally reach the circle drive of the Elementary building, I immediately grab my book bag and lunge for the door handle, but Mom quickly grasps a hold of me. 

“Peeta, wait just one minute.”  I watch as she rummages through her purse, obviously sifting for one specific object.  When I see that she has pulled out some sort of spray bottle, I know what is about to happen.

 “Mom! No!” 

“Peeta, this is why you shouldn’t fight me about taking a bath.  Trust me, this smells better than you do right now.” 

She doesn’t give me time to fight back, which is probably smart on her end. If she had given me a second longer, I’d already be at the front entrance of the school building by now. Instead, gusts of spray cover the front of my neck, arms and chest.  It has a tinge of baby powder, mixed with flowers and musk, and it honestly reminds me of the old women who work in the reception area by the principal’s office. 

“Mom! Stop! I smell like a girl!” 

“Peeta, it’s made for boys and girls.” 

Her finger continually comes down on the sprayer.  After the sixth shot, I desperately push her hands away as my fingers burn for the door handle.  I can’t take any more. 

“I’m sorry, I had to do it.  Now, go have a good day.” 

I get out of the van and walk to the front doors with my head hanging low. I don’t stop at my locker; they are only inches apart from one another, and it’s far too embarrassing to be around anyone else right now.  

 I slowly walk into art class and catch sight of Delly at our normal table. As I walk over, the taunting starts almost immediately, much to my chagrin. I feel the eyes following me the whole way. 

“What’s that smell?” Glimmer asks with a disgusted face.  Marvel looks up as I set my book bag down next to Delly and a wicked smile creeps across his face just before he speaks. 

“What’s up, Mellark?  Did you steal your Grandma’s perfume?” 

I sit down next to Delly and she looks over at me with amusement.  “Why do you smell like an old lady?” 

I look down at the ground.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mumble at her. 

Delly shrugs her shoulders and continues painting her paper-mache cow, which after a week of work, is incredibly vibrant and realistic.  “Whatever,” she retorts. “I told you to stop fighting your Mom about taking a bath.” 

I grab my project from my cubby and continue my attempt at molding what is supposed to be a lion. I’m far behind in comparison to Delly, who seems to have no problem doing these sorts of assignments. I keep struggling to get my paste to form, and it looks more like a duck than a lion. Ms. Portia says that’s not the point of the exercise; that as long as you try, it doesn’t matter what it looks like.   

“Peeta is smelly just like Delly now,” Glimmer teases wickedly as she walks by.  You would think that after two years the joke would get old, but it refuses to die. 

“Buzz off,” Delly says in my defense.  To ease my pain, she attempts to assure me that Glimmer isn’t worth my time. “She’s a brat, don’t listen.”  I try to take these offered words of encouragement. But when I look over and see all the faces laughing at me, I can only hang my head low in response. 

I will never fight taking a bath again.

* * *

 **Present**  

Returning from a dreadful day at work, I really hoped to have the house to myself.  So when I pull in the driveway only to find my mother’s car, I place my hands over my face frustration. 

The last two weeks have been trying with her. She is insistent upon me going to Michigan State, and I’m not certain what to do about it.  My heart is and always has been set on staying in Pennsylvania. It doesn’t make sense for me to move hundreds of miles away to a city where I don’t know anyone.

She looks up from her crossword puzzle when I walk in. Her legs are crossed in her chair, her pen dangling from her fingertips as she concentrates intently.  Her glasses sit on the edge of her nose, and for the first time, I notice how incredibly old she looks.  

“You’re home late,” she says sternly. 

“The restaurant was busy,” I respond flatly while quickly taking off my shoes.  There is a moment of heavy silence between us. Just as I’m about to reach the stairs, that authoritative voice fills the room in a dominating manner. 

“Peeta, we need to solve this.” 

I come to a halt, knowing I’m going to dread every word that is about to be exchanged.  “Mom, I already told you. I don’t want to move to Michigan.” 

“Michigan State is your best bet,” she explains, turning in her chair and looking back at me. 

“For who? For you, or for me?” The words come out before I even have the opportunity to think about them. Her eyes are filled with bleakness, and I’m well aware it’s my fault.  But that’s the thing – I don’t want to do something just because _she_ wants me to. I need her to understand that she doesn’t own me, that I am my own person.

When these talks started two weeks ago, I heard her out for the sake of not arguing.  But now I’m to the point where I can’t bear it any longer.  

“Why don’t you want a _full_ scholarship to college, Peeta? Is it because of that girl?”   

I am a little perturbed. The suggestion that Katniss dictates my decisions sends a surging wave of anger through me. And while my mother isn’t wrong about it, she isn’t exactly right either.  I have a variety of reasons why I want to stay here, and Katniss is just one of them.

“This has nothing to do with Katniss. She may be moving to New York for all I know,” I admit. 

“Well, it just seems like all you care about lately is that girl and the piano you’re working on in the garage. What in heavens do you plan on doing with that thing, Peeta?”  

“Yes, I hear you. And I already told Dad, I’m restoring the piano for Katniss.”

“Jesus, Peeta. That’s going to cost a lot of money, isn’t it?” She is standing now, her arms crossed across her chest and her eyes staring at me like daggers.  The expression she wears shows concern.

“I haven’t spent that much,” I lie.  Mechanically, the piano had rusted strings, loose pins and a broken soundboard.  That’s nothing in comparison to the man hours that Johanna and I have been repairing, sanding and painting the exterior. At this point, I’ve probably depleted close to a thousand dollars from my savings. It’s money well spent, in my eyes.   

“Peeta, you’d better not be. I don’t want you throwing away your savings on a girl who may not even care about you.”

This tugs at my heartstrings a bit and I’ve stopped listening. My mind reverts to what happened in my bedroom two weeks ago. 

 _In case you don’t know this already, I love you.”_  

The air stilled. The heavy silence that followed was hollow. It was like I was just a shell, waiting to be filled with something…anything.  And now, I’m just filled with questions. _Where do we go from here?  What am I to her?  Does she care about me?_    

I momentarily consider all the things that I would think make up a relationship:  confidence in one another, comfortability, trust, and love.  I’m not sure we have all of these. 

That voice snaps me back to reality.  

“Peeta?  Are you listening to me?” 

While my mother has always had the best of intentions, she has the tendency to go about things the wrong way. Her actions and words come across as vindictive or spiteful at times.  Everything about it is incredibly hurtful and today is no exception, filling me with doubt.

“Ma, don’t say that.” I think it may have come out nearly as a plea, practically revealing all of my insecurities.  If it does though, she doesn’t say anything.   

“I just want to see you do great things, Peeta. You’re not going to do them here, playing footsies with Katniss Everdeen.” 

I respond quickly, with an edge to my voice. “I’m not playing footsies, okay? Just stop!”  I don’t want to argue anymore. The whole purpose of this conversation is to appease her, but I’m past that point now. I just want her to be quiet, go do her crossword puzzle and leave me alone.

“Peeta,” she says with a frustrated sigh. Her hands are animated as she talks in that high pitched voice I can’t stand. “Just think about it, okay?  We need an answer soon.  This is really important.” 

I assure her that I’ll think about it, even though it’s entirely unnecessary.  I’ve already expressed my thoughts on the matter. One of my mother’s biggest downfalls is communication.  It’s as though she only hears the things she wants to, and everything else is just blocked out.  I don’t think she _really_ comprehends a single word I have to say. 

When I get to my room, a Michigan State folder sits on the foot of my bed. The contents on the inside include pamphlets about the campus and admission paperwork that needs to be filled out. There is a sticky note attached to the top that reads: _The deadline is July 31._ I bitterly whip the folder across the room and watch the papers slowly drift until they hit the floor. 

* * *

Johanna stands back from the piano and wipes the grease from her forehead.  She smells of stainer and sweat. Her shirt is ripped, elbow bruised and pants soiled because I spilled nearly half a container of wood stain all over her. As a result, she is incredibly irritable. 

“Again, sorry about that,” I tell her apologetically while handing her a bottle of water.  The cap is immediately twisted off and she drinks sloppily, the liquid draining down her chin. I use my hand to shade my eyes from the blistering sun.  The driveway is honestly a horrible place to work with it being directly in the daylight. The garage isn’t an option because the fumes from both the paint and stain are atrocious. Unfortunately for us, it’s dreadfully humid to the point where it’s hard to breathe.  Every motion feels heavy, drawn out and lethargic. 

“I already told you, it’s fine,” she says, but her voice indicates otherwise.  I’m not surprised, though.  This is Johanna’s normal, unpleasant demeanor, so it doesn’t phase me at this point. 

“I’m just glad we’re done,” I say, completely worn out, yet filled with excitement at the same time. My stomach lurches. I keep imagining how Katniss’ face will look when she sees it, and the thought makes me giddy.

“You’re glad? I’m the one who did all the work,” she retorts.  It’s true that Johanna did the majority of it. In the beginning stages of the project, I was incredibly worried since I didn’t have a clue about what I was supposed to be doing.  Johanna’s Dad is a builder, though, so she just happens to know a lot about craftsmanship. Thank God she did – it worked out well for me in the end, and there is no way it would have been finished had I done it alone.  

“Thanks, Jo. I couldn’t have done it without you.” 

“You’re damn right,” she fires back at me with a smile. She stops for a moment to wipe her sweaty forehead and then continues. “You’re just lucky I had nothing better to do.” 

A smile creeps across my face because I know this is a lie.  Johanna has plenty of other obligations that take up a vast amount of her time.  I don’t argue, though. I just lean in and give her an awkward hug, mainly because I don’t think there is any other way to give her one.  And after spending all this time with her over the last few weeks, there’s a small part of me that’s sad this will come to an end.  I’ve enjoyed her company. Delly has become an emotional basket-case recently, and Mitch hasn’t been talking to me, so having Johanna around has been a breath of fresh air, to say the least.   

I never thought I would hear myself say that.

“What?” she asks, annoyed.  I look at her like I’m confused, but I know she’s referring to the solemn look on my face.  “What’s with that sad ass face?” 

I chuckle momentarily and just look down at the ground while answering.  “Nothing.  I’m just going to miss seeing you, that’s all.”  I don’t make eye contact because I know she is probably thinking I’m an idiot. 

“Yeah, yeah. Save it for Katniss, Buff ‘n Stuff.  Anyway, I’m out of here. And tell Katniss that just because she has a boyfriend now doesn’t mean she can ignore my calls.”   

 _Boyfriend?_    

A nervous chuckle escapes and I want to ask questions, but she doesn’t give me time to respond. Instead, Johanna quickly darts away and I can only watch as she grows smaller in the distance.  

The rest of the day is lackluster.  I try knocking on Mitch’s door, but he doesn’t answer.  I know he’s home because his car is out front. It’s become fairly evident that he doesn’t have a job anymore either, due to him not waking up until three in the afternoon again. 

In the late afternoon, I’m woken from my slumber on the living room couch by a knock on the front door. When I open it, I find Katniss on the other side. 

“About time,” she says. 

She’s been doing this lately – showing up at my doorstep and inviting herself in, not that I wouldn’t, mind you. All of this is still pretty new, yet somehow, it’s quickly becoming familiar.  I watch as she strolls down the hallway in her jean shorts and t-shirt just before plopping herself down on the couch.  The television still softly sounds next to where I was sleeping and she rolls her eyes at it. 

“Cupcake Wars _again_ , Peeta? We have got to get you some better taste in TV.” 

“Whatever. You liked it last time,” I sneer at her.

“Only because they did a Star Wars theme.” 

I contemplate showing her the piano, but decide to make it a surprise for later.  My hope is that maybe it will keep her here longer.

Usually, the first thing she does is change the channel, and I’m surprised when she doesn’t. Instead, Katniss sprawls out and lays her head across my lap. I immediately stroke her hair, another luxury I’ve become accustomed to. I wonder momentarily about how this feels for her. I’ve seen Prim lay in this very same position with her more times than I can count, but never seen Katniss on the receiving end of it. I imagine it’s probably like discovering the way something tastes for the first time after cooking it a dozen times over.

Finally, midway into the second episode, I hear her voice perk up. “Peeta, you’re killing me.  They are baking cupcakes for a Miss USA pageant.  Can we _please_ watch something else?”

I laugh, which is something I find myself doing often while she’s around.  It’s a strange feeling, watching someone for so long and thinking you know everything about them, and then one day realizing that you don’t.  There are these amazing new things that I’m discovering every day, like how quick witted she is, how she prefers oyster crackers over saltines, or that she hates the smell of cucumbers. The familiarity, however, is what I love the most. She’s still the same stubborn, talented, awkward girl I’ve always remembered who never takes off her boots.  It’s almost magical how the Katniss I’ve always known her to be hasn’t disappointed.  Maybe my perception is skewed, or maybe I’m learning the difference between infatuation and love. Either way, she makes me the happiest I’ve ever been. 

I succumb to giving her the remote. We lean against each other for a long while with the television sound down low. I have a moment of self-consciousness, wondering if she would rather be doing something more fun somewhere else with anyone other than me.  But when we laugh together, that thought quickly dissipates. 

As she leans against me, I hear her stomach let out an audible growl.  I look down at her with wide eyes. “I take it that you’re hungry?”  She confirms that she is, looking slightly embarrassed but amused. 

“Me, too. I’ll make us something,” I offer. I move to get up, but she pushes me back into the cushion, insisting upon getting it herself.

“You’re not my maid.  I can make something, too. God knows I’ve been here enough.”  Katniss starts to head for the kitchen, and I follow her to see what she’s up to.

“Katniss,” I say as she starts opening cupboards.  “You’re the guest.  The guest doesn’t make food.” In actuality, Katniss is making a valid point, but I just like doing things for her.  It makes me feel like she needs me. 

“Peeta, if I’m going to be here all the time, I may as well learn where everything is.  Go sit down.” 

She shoos me away and I’m left to go back and sit on the couch.  Multiple times, I crane my head around to see what she is doing, but can’t quite figure it out.  It’s awfully quiet.  For whatever reason, I half expect there to be a fire or something.  Katniss isn’t exactly a kitchen connoisseur. 

After a few minutes, she comes out with a plate of sloppily made sandwiches cut in half.  Peanut butter is all over the bottom rim of the plate and a lump sits on the front of her shirt.  I have to choke back a laugh when I notice the hint of grape jelly smeared across her forehead.    

“What?” she asks in a frustration while sitting down Indian-style next to me on the couch.  Katniss has obviously taken notice of my attempt to conceal my amusement. 

“You have jelly on your forehead,” I mumble through a smile. Her hand travels upward and touches the sticky mess. She attempts to rub it off, but remnants still remain.  She sighs in annoyance. 

“You should have let me cook,” I tell her.  The glare she shoots back at me is not a friendly one.

“Nope,” she says, point blank. 

“You should let me do things for you sometimes.” 

“There is nothing wrong with peanut butter and jelly,” she responds with a frown.  The skin above her eye is becoming red from her rubbing it furiously, so I bring my hand forward to assist. It’s a nice thing to be able to do; to touch her uninhibitedly.  She doesn’t flinch anymore. These days, her body language is usually at ease.  

Confidence.  

The things I have worked so hard to earn from her are finally paying dividends and becoming more evident in each passing day.  As she brings the corner of her sandwich to her lips, I feel nervous knowing that I’m falling more in love with her than I ever thought imaginable.   

My stomach does a few twists in reaction. 

Courageously, I ask a question that has been burning in my mind for long, long time.  “What did you mean when you said, ‘If I’m going to be here all the time?’ 

“What do you mean?”  she asks quizzically. 

“Earlier, you said that ‘if you were going to be here all the time, you should know where things are.’  What does that mean for you and me, for us?” 

She shrugs nonchalantly, which, is quite devastating, to be honest.  “I don’t know.  I like being here with you. It means whatever it means.”

I’m not sure how to react. It’s not a bad response by any means. It’s all I could ever hope for, really, but at the same time, I’ve been hoping for stability and acceptance. 

“Are you having a graduation party?”  she asks after a moment of hanging silence.  She’s moved on from our previous topic rather rapidly and her foot is now resting against my leg.  We are both well aware and neither of us move.

“I haven’t thought about it. Why?”

She shrugs her shoulders as though she doesn’t care, but it’s evident that she does.  It’s just one of the many new things I’ve learned how to read in regards to Katniss Everdeen.

“Because my Mom has decided she wants to be a Mom all of a sudden and throw me some big graduation party.” 

“Really? What brought that on?” I’ve long since finished my food, while she just nibbles on hers.  

She rolls her eyes as she starts to explain.  “Who knows, really. It’s always something different with her.”  I never really get full explanations when it comes to her mother.  I don’t think anyone does. The hint of frustration in her voice usually says enough.  

“Do you want to talk about it?”  I ask, primarily for the sake of asking. 

I never expect her to answer, but of nowhere, she just begins talking. I just listen. There is really no need for me to comment, and these moments are so few and far between that I wouldn’t want to chance it, anyway. When she begins to talk about her father, her eyes light up in a way that I assume they did as a child; a look that has and always been just for him. She explains how her mother never really seemed to be able to get things right after Mr. Everdeen’s untimely death. Her mother continues to be up and down and isn’t consistent in taking her medication. Katniss’ voice nearly cracks when she discusses Prim, how she knows she is a flawed caregiver in many ways, but has never tried harder at anything in her life. I’m so encompassed by her words. She goes on for so long that I almost don’t notice how much time has passed. Before I know it, the clock in the darkened living room is blinking 2:00 A.M.

 _Trust_.

Her head leans against my shoulder after a while. I can tell that she is drifting by how her weight is distributed limp against me. Softly, I nudge her awake and she stirs next to me. 

“Hey, sleepy.  Do you want to stay?”

She shakes her head while rubbing her eyes, which grow weary and wide once she sees the clock. “No, I have to get home to Prim. God, I didn’t realize how late it was.”

I follow her out the door. Once we’re outside, I dawdle. I end up moving closer to the garage, my hands nervously shoved into my pockets. I can’t make eye contact and sweat builds in my palms. It doesn’t take long for Katniss to know that something is up.  She stands there, her arms extending as if asking, ‘What the hell are you doing?’ 

“Peeta, I’ve got to get home. What are you doing?”    

I tilt my head in the direction of the garage. “I just want to show you something really quick, before you go...” 

I grab her by the hand before she can protest and quietly lead her to the side door, careful not to wake anyone.

“Peeta, it’s so late and --” 

We make it two steps inside when she notices it. Katniss’ jaw drops and she instantly walks up to the wooden piano, which now looks stunning, if I do say so myself. Johanna did an amazing job on the exterior. I watch with a smile as she runs her hand across the top of it, completely awed. 

“Peeta, where did you get this? It’s unbelievable. I can’t believe you have a piano.”  She sits herself down on the bench in front of it, gently running her fingers across the keys.

“I don’t have a piano,” I say very matter of factly. “You do.” 

It takes her a minute to get it. I’m not sure if it’s because of the astonishment or the fact that she is completely enamored. When she finally grasps the meaning of my words, it’s like watching someone come alive for the first time. I see confusion, uncertainty, and excitement fusing together, creating a completely animated expression on her face.   

“Peeta, I can’t...I can’t accept this.” she says, unable to tear her eyes away from the keys.  While her lips say one thing, her body language says something completely different. 

I promptly sit down next to her and she turns her head to face me. It’s easy to tell just how tired she is. Her eyes look heavy despite the excitement. It seems to be working in my favor, however. I expected much more of a fight from her about this, but perhaps I’ve just underestimated just how much she has wanted this.

“I didn’t buy it,” I explain. “Johanna and I restored it. It wasn’t that expensive.”  She stares at me momentarily, perhaps looking for any indications that I’m lying. I’m not though. I wouldn’t do that, not to her.

“Why would you do all this?” she shakes her head and looks down, pulling the cover over the keys. _Fuck you, Katniss_ , I think to myself. I made a pact that I wouldn’t say it again, but everything changes when she looks at me like this.  My brain can’t contend with my heart, and I feel everything on display in its rawest form. And those grey eyes of hers just peer at me from a close distance, gazing at me in a way I never want to end.

“Katniss, you know why.” 

The distance between us disappears when she brings her mouth against mine.  Her lips are cold and rigid at first, but quickly become warm and pliable. The taste of sleep and sugar fill my senses as tingling sensations shoot throughout my body. I wonder how long this will last, the way my gut feels every time she touches me. It’s fluttery and continuously reminds me of sailing.

There is no mistaking how fast her heart is beating. I’ve learned that these are the things that I can’t take for granted. Katniss is not good with words, but what she shows physically speaks volumes.

Her hand rests across the crook of my neck. I feel its removal, followed by a single finger running across the line of my clavicle. A needy feeling starts building and bubbling in me all over again.

“Where did you even come from?” she says so softly that I almost don’t hear it.

 _Love_.

I wonder if this is what it means to learn the difference between what’s real and not.  I used to swear that I loved her before, but my heart is so full now, beyond any point of turning back. 

My fingers find their way to Katniss’ hair as my lips pursue hers once more. Quickly, I find myself losing my breath, desperate for things to never end. It takes me a moment to notice that she is breathing just as heavily as I am, returning my kisses with the same fervor.  It’s when my fingers run down the side of her leg and she lets out a violent shiver that I realize something.

Maybe she _does_ feel things just as intensely as I do. 

My heart isn’t going to allow me to say those three words, but somehow, they don’t seem like enough at this point anyway. Instead, I opt to convey my feelings through passionate kisses and tedious fingers that are now traveling over the side of her breast.  She lets out a sharp gasp as I do this, and I feel myself grow hard beneath my jeans. 

A faint, yet audible “Peeta” escapes from her lips, and it’s all the encouragement I need.

Fueled with emotion but hindered by fatigue, I clumsily reach for the button of her shorts.  After a brief moment of frustration, she comes to my aid as the button finally comes free from the loophole. I stand and pull her up next to me, watching her shorts pool at her knees. The small of her back is pressed up against the front of the piano.  I come closer, pressing only a small amount of my weight against her. Her legs quiver against me, which makes me feel powerful. 

“Do you want me?” I ask, full of confidence, perhaps the most I’ve ever shown in front of her.   

Her grey eyes are pools of wonder as she nods her head.  Without hesitation, I grab her by the hips and set her on the covered keyboard, allowing her feet to dangle off the edge. I peel away her underwear, the only thing keeping me from the place I most desperately want to be. The pulsating sensations sweeping through my groin are becoming overwhelming, but I ignore them.  Instead, I do something I’ve never done, but have been dreaming about for years; something so intimate I’ve been saving it for one person, _the_ person. 

Her.  

It’s not unfamiliar territory. I’ve seen my fair share of women before.  But when I kneel down and bring my mouth onto her, push my tongue _in_ her, it’s completely new.  The newness brings forth anxiety, mostly due to the fact that I’m unsure, but I use Katniss as a cue. When I hit a certain area that elicits a response, I stay there and continuously mimic that same gesture. I experiment using my tongue in different ways; a flicker of the tip to her most sensitive spot, or using its length to run up and down her tediously.  Katniss’ hands tangle through my hair and she pulls when I suck on her lightly, exerting soft whimpers and moans.  

I don’t stop until I notice her body shaking and limbs tensing.  The back of her knees glisten with sweat as I place her feet back down on the ground. Her body is slack, so she leans her weight against the keyboard for support, partially opening the cover and revealing the ivory keys.  

There is little time wasted in getting my pants off.

We kiss again. Her lips are cool and loose strands of hair stick to the gleaming sweat on her forehead.  I’m keeping myself alert.  It’s so easy to become lost in all of this.  Her hand is on me momentarily, but it makes me want to lose myself more, so I take it away. There is a need that desperately must be fulfilled, so I slide into her, and in doing so, seems to make everything okay.  We fit together imperfectly, rhythmically, like quickening beats.  Her backside occasionally collides with the keys, sending broken chords into the night. It’s too good to stop, and when everything collides into one perfect, faultlessmoment, I can barely stand it as I break into a million pieces.

 _Everything_. We have everything.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Chelzie for her mad grammar and beta skills. Without her, there would be no updates.

**2010**

For a little while, I felt really bad for Gale Hawthorne. The way she told him she didn't love him romantically - well, it would've broken my heart, that's for sure. And after that night in the movie theatre, even I wanted to console him; tell him that I know what it feels like to have unrequited love for Katniss Everdeen.

But that was then and this is now.

And right now, I kind of want to kick his ass.

"What's your deal?" Jovi asks, looking back at the table two over from us where Gale is sharing ice cream with a bubbly red-head. Her foot keeps touching his under the table. I can blatantly see it.

"He's just a jerk," I say through gritted teeth.

"For eating ice cream?"

"No, for being here with that girl."

"Why do you say that?" Jovi asks quizzically. The look on his face reads that he clearly disagrees with me.

"Well, for someone who says that they love Katniss, it sure doesn't seem that way."

"Because of the red-head?"

I take a deep breath before letting out a long sigh. "Yeah, I guess. Just seems like the only person he loves is himself."

"Well, last I heard, Katniss Everdeen wasn't hopping on the Gale train," Jovi replies. "So you can calm the hell down and eat your Blizzard any time now."

"You sound like Mitch," I tell him.

"And you sound like a bitch, so we're even."

I don't talk much after that. It's hard for me to not be angry with Gale, or Jovi for that matter. I'm his brother. How can he not side with me? And it was only two short weeks ago that Gale was crying to Katniss, professing his undying affection. How can it be legitimate if he's already seeing someone else? That's not love. I couldn't move on from her that fast. Probably not ever.

We finish and I quietly follow Jovi to the car, my head down, half paying attention, half brooding. That's when I notice a pink bike, twisted and resting on the ground with trickles of blood not far from it. I follow the path and see a small red pool next to a fragile frame. Flesh is torn from its dirt ridden knee and the free flowing blonde hair looks incredibly familiar...

Primrose Everdeen.

People begin to crowd around her as she lays on the ground, tears trickling down her face. I begin to push, trying to get to her, but as I get closer, the bodies grow thicker. By the time I reach the front, Gale Hawthorne is already there, cradling her in his strong arms as she sobs quietly into his shoulder. He carries her quickly to his Jeep, gently placing her in the back seat. He hops into the driver's seat and pulls out his phone. I've never seen Gale quite so frantic. Seconds later, I watch as he hurriedly pulls away, probably on his way to the hospital.

I stand in shock, not really knowing how to register all that just happened. Jovi leans against the open car door, examining me as though he's waiting for a response. Just when I'm about to ask him to wipe that smug look off his face, he states, "Only cares about himself, right?"

* * *

**Present**

After two minutes, Delly finally says it. "I'm not going to lie, I feel a little underdressed."

This is an uncomfortable situation to say the least. Mitch and I are in jeans, Delly in a printed sundress that's much too casual. Looking around at all the guest attire, we seem a bit ill prepared. I mean, how were we supposed to know? Graduation parties are normally pretty laid back. Right now, it feels like we're at Prince William's royal wedding.

The three of us sit, watching the monumental fountain as water flows through it freely. The stonework is beautiful and the garden that surrounds it is just as radiant; filled with color, bountiful trees and tall lilies. Our table is covered in thick linen and expensive dinnerware. Wait staff in pressed vests are walking around, passing out glasses of chilled drinks and expensive wine. Glancing over to the impressive buffet table, there is a spread of extravagant food and artisan breads.

"Jesus, fuck, look at all this shit," Mitch announces in a conspicuous manner. "I bet they have a yacht the size of fucking Thailand." Even though I can't see his eyes under the sunglasses, his facial expressions are easy to read with his eyebrows moving about.

Delly rolls her eyes at him and says through gritted teeth, "Can you lower your voice? Everyone can hear your big mouth."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I embarrass you? You never seemed to have complaints about my mouth before."

Delly's eyes light up as she turns her body around to face him. "Do you have to act like a four year old all the time, or just when I'm around?"

Mitch places a finger on his chin, as though he is thinking deeply. "Well, I don't know. Do you always fuck four year olds, or just when I'm around?"

My stomach sinks a bit. I knew what a bad idea this would be, but Delly assured me though that Mitch isn't worth missing Madge's party, that she could handle his comments. Here we are though, in the flesh and I immediately feel responsible for this debacle.

Just when I think the conversation can't possibly become any more uncomfortable, it does.

"You are a stupid fucking pig. I've never regretted anything more in my life," Delly spews while looking directly at him.

I can't see his reaction through the sunglasses, but I don't need to. He's hurt. His whole body is rigid as he sits straightforward, still as ever. It's very unlike him. Normally, a snarky comment would have been made at this point, some kind of loud profanity...anything.

"Well," he finally says after a moment, clearly faking buoyancy. "I'm gonna go get fucking wasted. I'll be standing by the dudes carrying alcohol if anyone needs me."

He walks away and Delly stares at him painfully as he goes. "Why did you say that?" I ask. "You know he feels about you."

"He's just such an asshole sometimes," she says in that high pitched strained voice I can't stand. "And it's weird to be around him now. I don't know what to do."

"Dell, I told you. You need to talk to him. You can't keep putting it off."

"Yeah, but it's like talking to a child. You see how he is!"

I shake my head at her. "He's always been like that, though. You know that."

"Whatever. I don't need you giving me shit, too. I get enough from him. It's my life and I'll do what I want with it." She folds her arms while pouting and looks away from me.

Now she's the one who is acting childish. She used to sit like this in elementary school when she didn't want to participate in science projects. It didn't work then and it isn't going to work now.

"I'm going to find Mitch before he does something stupid," I say, standing to my feet.

"Fine. Whatever," she replies, flinging her hand in the air, obviously trying to tell me to leave. I just shake my head again. I can only walk away to keep my frustration at bay.

As I head to the other side of the yard in search for Mitch, I notice a familiar set of golden locks cascading down. A sleek black dress is slit just above her knee as it hangs low on her shoulders. My mouth can stay agape for only a moment, however, because she is reaching out for an embrace. I feel those arms wrap around my waist and a light strand of her hair falls gently over my face, smelling like expensive hair product. Maybe it's wrong to do so, but I can't help but compare it to the smell of Katniss' strawberry shampoo.

"Peet," Madge says while hugging me tightly. "It's been forever."

I nod my head at her, half smiling.

"It has." My reply comes with a weak smile. A year has gone by, and she looks different to me. Older. She's taller than I remember. Longer legs...

"I'm glad you came."

I nod my head again, fidgeting my hands. "You look wonderful," I say genuinely, but trying to remain platonic as possible.

"So do you. Then again, that's pretty easy for you," she admits shyly. I blush a bit, feeling warm from her words. Things like that are nice to hear at times.

"So, any plans? Are you staying here? Going somewhere else?"

"Well, I'm going to Michigan State, actually. They have a law program there that my father says isn't too bad."

My eyes flash open suddenly. I'm a bit taken aback. Why there? Her father could afford to send her anywhere. Of all the places...

"That's great!" I'm happy for her, yet still a bit confounded by her decision.

"What about you?" she asks. "You probably got a scholarship to go somewhere amazing!"

"I'm not sure," I answer honestly. "There's still a lot to figure out. My parents are pressing and I'm not sure I even want to go to college. I've got time, though."

Madge gives me a warm smile, accentuating her cheekbones. I forgot just how genuinely nice she is; always happy, always glowing.

"Well," she mumbles, looking at the ground. "If you don't go to Michigan in the fall, it would still be nice to see you. You know? We could hang out? Doesn't just have to be us. You could bring Delly. Or Katniss? I hear that you two are together now?"

I shrug and reply: "I guess you could say that." It's easier to just say that than attempt to explain that Katniss has issues with labels.

Madge is staring at me and it's a bit uncomfortable. We went down this road a while back, trying to be friends. I adore her, I really do. And for that reason, I will never attempt it again. Nothing good will ever come of it, and it's only bound to hurt her all the while blowing up in our faces.

"Maybe." I say for the sake of being kind. It tastes awful coming out of my mouth, knowing I don't really mean it. How else would I say it, though?

"I miss being around you. You were one of my best friends," Madge says.

I feel like someone is taking a sledgehammer to my gut.

"Mitch!" I call out quickly as he walks around with a glass of champagne in his hand. He comes up to us and nearly spills his drink. I'm glad I found him already, that way, he can't get completely intoxicated.

Immediately, Mitch starts looking to my left and right.

"Where's cunt-dracula?" he inquires.

I let out a long sigh. "If you're talking about Delly, I have no idea."

"Oh, you mean as in the dirtiest, filthiest cum guzzling slut-bucket on the planet? That person? Because her name isn't Delly. It's cunt-dracula."

Madge looks horrified. "Mitch..."

He takes another swig of champagne, still with those stupid sunglasses on. "You know, Madge, I tried to like her. I really did. Now, she's just a filthy, dirty blood sucking slut to me." I use my hand to cover my face as the people around us stare.

Suddenly, I wish I had a pair of sunglasses.

This is the worst idea I've had in my entire life.

* * *

**2009**

When I hear the crash, I immediately bolt for the stairs.

Things don't usually break in moments like these. I can hear their voices from below, my mother's strained, cracking cries can't be hidden from the hollow walls. My father, who is normally a quiet man, is speaking in a heightened, high-pitched voice fueled with emotion. This is odd, considering he doesn't like to argue. Despite my mother's valiant efforts to press his buttons, Paul Mellark doesn't normally raise his voice. Today, however, is not the case.

Today is different.

When I get to the top of the stairs, I immediately see why.

Elvis is quite beloved in the Mellark household. My grandfather started passing down memorabilia to my father at a very young age. Plates, magazines, vinyl records; they are all very precious commodities to him. A lifetime of collecting is now displayed in a glass case that resides in our living room. It's full of beloved items that could never have a price tag. And it's not just because it's Elvis, but because every item has a story, a memory somehow intertwined to my father's childhood.

Now, as though she is playing Frisbee, I watch as my mother sends the Elvis china through the air. One by one, the heavy plates hit the wall with force and implacably shatter. Next, she takes a record and snaps it in half over her knee, throwing the broken pieces into the air like confetti. She can get worked up at times, but right now, it's as though she is crazed. My father can only stare blankly with clenched fists, looking as though he is ready to burst.

"Here's your precious shit! You love Elvis so goddamn much, why didn't you marry him instead? You could've saved me years of bullshit!"

Possibly his most prized possession - an old, wooden victrola that was his mother's, sits on a table not far from them. The moment I see her go for it, I fly down the steps and wrap my arms around her, gripping forcefully. She kicks, screams, and punches. One hits me in the face, but I don't dare let go. Sweat ridden hair sticks to her forehead as the tears fall violently. It's only then that she realizes I'm not going to let go. Exhausted, she finally buries her face into my neck. I can feel the liquid from her nose running as she continues to sob, dampening my shirt. After what seems like an eternity, her heartbeat slows from its previously rapid pace.

It takes nearly an hour until she finally stops whimpering and falls asleep.

I carry her to bed and come back to the living room where my father stands holding a broom. I take it from his astonished, weak hands and attempt to start cleaning up the vindictive mess that was made.

He sits in a stupefied silence for a minute before finally speaking.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Peeta."

I shrug it off. I wish I could lie and say she's never done it before. That I've never seen her break things, destroy small pieces of our souls; anything and everything that matters. If I thought it meant something, I might even consider pretending. But it's just not true. As good of intentions as she has, as good of a mother and wife as she tries to be, my mother just doesn't know how. She was never meant for this kind of life. These are just the moments in which it can't be hidden, where the truth is displayed in the open for the world to see.

After I empty the broken pieces into the trash, my father hands me a towel filled with ice. When I give him a questioning glance, he points up at my eye, which now feels puffy and hot. I run to the mirror and see the black and blue.

"What set her off?" I ask, bringing the ice to my wound. He brings his hands to his face in a baffled manner while slouching defeatedly in his chair.

"We were at the grocery store and I ran into Mrs. Everdeen. We only talked for a moment, but I think...I think that may have done it."

We talk briefly about my mother's jealousy when it comes to Mrs. Everdeen, about how my mother's behavior has seemed to only become worse over the years; her lack of trust in him, and how the lack of respect when it comes to people in general has been driving them apart. All the while, he remains calm and easy - his words never coming out with a hint of anger or disdain.

Curiosity fills me all of a sudden and I brazenly ask the question that's been burning for ages.

"Dad, did you love Mrs. Everdeen more than you do Mom?"

He leans forward in his chair a little bit, looking up at me as I lean against the wall close to him. It's like he is afraid to answer. His eyes say more than words ever could, though, and in that moment, I know. I know that he always has and always will love her more.

"Peeta, you can't compare people. You're going to meet a lot of girls in your life, and you're not going to love any one of them the same."

I shake my head at him. "But if you loved her, then why did you let her go? Why did you marry Mom, who's insane?"

He glares at me angrily, and points his finger in my direction. "Never, ever say those things about your mother, or about anyone for that matter. Your mother is who she is, and I love her no matter what. As far as Mrs. Everdeen goes, we just weren't meant to be."

I scoff at him. "Everyone says that and it means nothing. It's probably the most overused saying in the history of sayings."

He chuckles at me and pats my knee. "Peeta, you're just a young man. One day, you'll get it. Sometimes people come in your life just for a little while and then they leave. When you love someone, you have to know how to give them up."

A little infuriated, I throw my hands in the air. "That makes no sense! If you love someone, you should never give up on them."

He contemplates this, but only for a moment. "Some people see it that way, but I don't. You should love the right way, son, and the right way is to put someone else before yourself. Otherwise, it's not really love."

"So, you gave up on Mrs. Everdeen because you loved her?" I ask, quite confused.

"I gave up on Mrs. Everdeen because she was in love with someone else. And while she would've stayed with me, I didn't want her to. So I let her go."

"So, she would've stayed with you, but you broke up with her?"

He chuckles and with animated hands says, "Indeed."

I can't imagine letting go of Katniss if I had her. The thought seems crazy, actually. I don't get this love logic.

"Because when it's real, that person's feelings are more important than your own. No matter how bad it hurts, or how much you don't want to do it, you'll know that it's right. And trust me, it's going to hurt. We Mellark men - we love big."

I nod my head at him, focusing on his words. I always get this feeling when he talks to me so intently. It's like I should be taking notes.

"You don't have to get it now, son. Just remember what I told you, and eventually, it will come to you. I know it will. You're too good for it not to."

* * *

**Present**

I don't quite know what I expected Mrs. Everdeen to be like. In my mind, I suppose I pictured her a little loopy, talking to herself all the while trying to break loose from her straitjacket. Maybe it's just the way Katniss talks about her, or the general impression I've gotten. It all makes little sense, really. I guess what I didn't expect was for her to be so...normal. She's just a blonde in a sundress who's making a fruit salad.

The blowing fan isn't really doing much during the early August weather. I can see the sweat glistening on Prim's forehead as she sits across from me at the kitchen table, blowing up balloons. When she sees me sitting there empty handed, she slides the open package over to me.

"You can help, too, you know."

"Pshh. I'm not helping you," I tease. She gives me a swift punch on my arm.

We blow up balloons until our stomachs hurt.

The remainder of the morning, I help the Everdeens set up for the party. It takes me almost two hours to move chairs and hang decorations. Katniss questions almost every little detail, suggesting it's "unnecessary, expensive and over the top." Each and every time, however, Mrs. Everdeen patiently assures her that it is necessary and that Katniss is more than deserving. I can still see her roll her eyes at her mother's turned back, clearly frustrated. Her mood is foul. I take notice in how different she is when Mrs. Everdeen is around. She's reverted back to the quiet, masked persona that she goes to when she's guarded. I've made it my priority to see that she's back to her normal ways by the end of this day.

I make several attempts to cheer her up, but they falter. It isn't until just before the party when Gale Hawthorne that she finally smiles again.

"Catnip," he says with beaming eyes as he walks into the living room. Katniss immediately wraps her arms around him for a tight embrace, burying her face in his chest. It's awkward for me to watch - her lighting up happily for Gale after I've watched her brood all day. That sinking feeling returns, just as it did at our graduation ceremony, and it's a hard pill to swallow.

Her mood is different after that.

Suddenly, Katniss is being helpful rather than difficult. The scowl is gone, seemingly replaced with playful banter and mockery between her and Gale. It's quite obvious that they've known each other for a long time. It's the way they interact; her finishing his sentences, him hoisting her and Prim through the air. Mrs. Everdeen obviously adores him as well, peppering his face with kisses. What a horrible feeling, knowing I can't compete with the history, this other world she has. I'm completely detached from it.

She's so different around him. Lighter.

People start trickling in. Mrs. Everdeen is the perfect hostess and genuinely seems to be trying to please Katniss, who is entirely disinterested in her guests. After an hour of mingling, she ends up coming over to empty table I'm sitting at and plops down next to me.

"I'm ready for this to be over," she sighs. I don't say anything in response and after a moment, she nudges my arm. "What's with you?" Katniss asks. "You've been quiet all day."

"I just have a headache," I lie.

My budding jealousy seems slightly irrational, so I don't admit to it. It's difficult when Katniss won't put a label on our relationship and leaves me feeling inadequate. I fear if I start behaving like a possessive baby, she'll never want to. We'll just be in this weird in-between place forever.

She doesn't say a whole lot to me after that, just meanders with guests and friends. I play Tetris on my phone for a while to keep busy, trying to shut the world out. It's not until Gale comes up to me almost two hours later that I remember where I'm at.

"Hey, Mellark. I need a hand."

He doesn't explain what he needs, just starts walking. I decide to follow him, possibly out of sheer boredom more than anything. As soon as I notice that we are headed for his Jeep, I inquire about where we are going.

"We're almost out of ice and you look bored as hell. I figured you would be up for the trip."

"Thanks, I guess."

The first five minutes of the ride are completely silent and awkward until Gale finally starts talking. "So, you seem to be avoiding everyone today. You alright?"

I clear my throat and make sure to avoid eye contact as he keeps turning his head in my direction. "Yeah. I just have a headache."

He looks over at me with a quizzical glare. "You sure? Didn't seem that way to me."

"I'm fine," I say assertively, but it comes out snippier than I originally intended it to.

"Whatever. You can be lonely and pathetic all by yourself then."

"How about we just skip the small talk, okay, Gale?"

He lets out an aggravated sigh and grips the wheel firmly. A heavy silence lingers over us as we reach the store. Once inside, I decide to ask him a question that's been nagging at me all day.

"Has she always been like this around her Mom?"

He smiles and looks over at me. "Like what?"

"Angry?"

"For as long as I've known her," he answers as we reach the ice.

We don't talk again until we're in the car heading back. Gale looks a bit unsettled, moving about in the driver's seat.

"Look, I think it's safe to say that we both love the same girl," Gale announces out of nowhere. "And we both care about her, but she only wants to be with one of us."

I fold my arms and look out the window, acting like I don't care. But he has my undivided attention and nothing can tear it away.

"And that's you."

I exhale.

"So it's your responsibility to make sure she goes to Juilliard, not mine."

Wait, what?

"Juilliard? She opened her letters?"

In a puzzled fashion, I lean forward and look over at him. Gale nods his head slowly.

"She didn't tell me," I murmur.

"Well, now you know. And you need to make sure it happens. It's the opportunity of a lifetime. She's way too talented not to go."

I scoff and look back at him. "You think I don't know that she is talented? And since when does Katniss listen to other people? You should know just as much as I do that she isn't going to do something just because I tell her to."

We stop in front of Katniss' house. Gale cuts the engine, but neither of us move.

"The way I see it, there are only two things holding her back: you and Prim. And I'll look after Prim. You - you've got to make sure you figure the other part out."

I don't say anything else, staring blankly at the dashboard in front of me. What does he expect me to do? I'm not her keeper.

After that, I respectively give my goodbyes to everyone inside and grab my keys. When Katniss follows me out to my car, I can only let out an elongated sigh.

"Peeta, you're leaving? Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," I say adamantly while starting up the Yukon.

"Do you want to talk?" she asks.

All I can think about is that she had this monumental, life changing news that she's been withholding. It hurts. Gale knew before I did. I know we're not "dating," but we are something. And I'm the last to know.

"No. I'm just going to go. Have fun at the rest of your party."

I don't see Katniss again for two days. I don't call. I don't text. I just...think.

And then she does it again - shows up at my doorstep unannounced with a plastic bag in hand, looking up at me with those lovely eyes, giving me all the reassurance I need.

"Picnic?" she asks, holding up the bag.

We end up sprawling out a blanket on the front porch. A light, cool breeze rolls in on a late afternoon. We pick at the strawberries Katniss brought as she leans her head against my chest, all the while her face planted in a book. I can feel her jaw move against me as she nibbles on her sandwich.

"The crappy thing about graduation parties is having to deal with dumb people and ugly decorations all over your house. The good thing is that I made out like a bandit - six hundred bucks! I'm thinking about saving it for Prim..." She continues to talk rapidly, her hands moving fervently in an excited manner. I just sit quietly, watching as she takes another bite of her peanut butter and jelly.

My butt grows numb after a while and I try to subtly fidget, but inadvertently move myself from under her, completely knocking Katniss off balance.

"Real smooth," she groans while putting her weight on her palms to regain balance. I try not to laugh, but it's all too comical. Before I can utter another word, she peels the bread from her sandwich apart and smashes me in the face.

I pin her down and pepper her with jelly-faced kisses, but they quickly become more than that and our picnic is abandoned.

It's as good of a day as I can ever remember.

She never mentions Juilliard, never talks about New York. I don't either.

I want to hear it from her lips.

Another week passes without anything and my nerves continue to grate. I try to act as though I'm impervious to all that is going on, but it becomes increasingly difficult. Gale's words weigh heavily on my conscience. When I'm with her, it begins to hurt.

Painful, agonizing hurt.

We take Prim with us to the zoo on a weekday afternoon.

"Did you open it yet? The letter from Juilliard?" I ask as we walk into the penguin exhibit.

Katniss shrugs. "I'm not sure it matters. I like being here. I like the people here. New York is too...much."

"But, it's Juilliard," I announce pleadingly. "And New York isn't that far."

"Far enough. But here I can see Prim anytime I want. And you."

My heart soars and sinks all in one rapid movement.

I don't say any more that day, or the next two days. I stay away, trying to distance myself from everything. I think until I'm so exhausted that my body might implode. I come to the realization that there is only one thing to do.

Friday night, we decide to rent a movie.

"Which one do you think?" Katniss inquires, holding up two DVD's from the shelf. I shrug nonchalantly as I look up at the choices. I can barely function as it is, let alone attempt to concentrate on something as insignificant as picking out a movie. She notices immediately, probably because I'm not good at hiding my emotions. I tell myself that if maybe I just don't think about it for a while, the aching will go away.

You can train your body to do things, right? Adapt. Adjust.

"Peeta? Why are you acting weird? What's going on?"

I turn aside from her, but she walks around me, stopping me as I try to look away from her. Katniss is drawing attention toward us, however, letting her voice escalate. I make an attempt to act level headed, at least until we can get out of here.

"Why won't you look at me?"

"I don't feel right. I just need some air," I muster shakily just before walking outside. Despite it being a hotter day, the night air feels better than the stuffy inside of the video store. I take a moment to gather myself. That is, until Katniss comes quickly behind me, grabbing a hold of my arm to still me so she can look me in the eyes.

"What's going on with you lately?" I tense a bit looking at her, especially with the way the streetlight is lighting up the side of her face, capturing it in the most becoming way. My throat catches as she awaits my response. I pray for a distraction, but the crickets are the only sound in the distance. My body feels faint and the drumming in my ears is so intense that I'm afraid I'll never hear again.

"I mean, you never did tell me why you left the party," Katniss says. "And now, it's like you're not even here."

Of all the things I expected to come out of her mouth, this wasn't it. As much as I want say that I'm sorry, or that it's going to get better, I can't. I can't because the world doesn't work like that. Not today, it doesn't.

"Katniss," I manage in a broken voice. The way she looks up at me, slightly distraught, apprehensive, tells me that she has been much more attentive than I've been giving her credit for.

"Peeta, what are you doing?"

I need to just say it. If I don't say it now, I'll probably never conjure up the willpower to say it again.

"This isn't working, Katniss."

It's hard to watch her eyes widen, see the hurt that progresses across her face, slightly mixed with anger. It slowly unfolds until it nearly breaks me to pieces. I realize that all the time I've spent thinking about how much this is going to hurt me, never for a second did I think about how much it's going to hurt her.

The pain is on a visceral level.

After nearly a moment, she finally responds. "I...I don't get it. What isn't working? What does that even mean?"

"I'm leaving in three weeks. I'm moving to Michigan," I divulge. "I'm not going to be around anymore."

"So? That means we can't be friends anymore? They don't have phones in Michigan?"

I scoff at that statement, probably a little more scornfully than I should. The idea that she still identifies us as friends is just plain ridiculous to me.

"Katniss, I think we're a little more than that."

It's her turn to scoff this time, and she does so with a foul demeanor. "Call it whatever you want. That's the least of our problems right now."

"Not to me," I say weakly.

"First of all, why are you going to Michigan? And secondly, why the hell can't you talk to me anymore if you do?"

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. When I had it all played out in my head, it was just me blurting it out, getting it over with so I could agonize for the rest of my life. Because I know it's better this way - for her, for me. Once I'm gone, I can't hold her back anymore. I get a scholarship to play baseball and she can study music in New York, move on, without me. Everyone wins.

"I mean, it's the same reason why you should be going to Juilliard. The opportunity is there. I may get drafted. It's just going to be too hard for us," I lie. I try to make it sound convincing, like I'm not a horrible liar. Or maybe I'm just trying to convince myself. Who knows? "I'll be there. You'll be in New York. It's unrealistic."

She throws her hands up in the air, as though to tell me to stop talking. "Wait, who said I'll be in New York? I don't even know what I'm doing yet."

"Well, that's where you should be," I urge. "You're way too talented not to go."

"Peeta, this is bullshit and you know it," Katniss asserts. "You don't even want to play college baseball!"

I can't tell what she's fighting for, but I feel like it's for something. It makes me feel worse for doing this, like maybe she does love me the same way I love her. There's no telling, really.

"I mean, it could be awkward for us, Katniss. What if you meet someone there? Or I meet someone? We shouldn't hold each other back," I convey.

"Hold each other back?" she says, her laughter dripping with sarcasm. "Whatever. It's not like it matters at this point, anyway. You're just going to do what you want. I'm out of here." My heart breaks when I hear her voice crack, watching her move hastily the whole time. Her feet start to pick up speed as she walks away in the dark.

"Katniss!" I plead, running after her and reaching for her hand. "At least let me take you home."

"Forget it, Peeta. I'm a big girl. Besides, I wouldn't want to hold you back."

My stomach lurches and then stops. I can't explain the hollowness in me. I just know it feels like someone carved out a piece of me and I can't get it back.

It's empty.

I'm empty.


	15. Chapter 15

**Present**

I search frantically through my closet, unable to find it anywhere. I've looked between the wall and the bed three times, torn through the covers, inspected under the pillows and I know damn well that it was sitting next to the windowsill last night. Now, when I glance over to the empty ledge, my heart stirs. And the longer I search, the more rapid my beating heart thrums in my ears.

_Where could it have gone?_

Upon entering the laundry room, I start thrashing through piles, throwing dirty clothes over my shoulder in a desperate attempt to locate what I'm looking for. The shirt is nothing special at first glance. It's plain, merely a blue cotton short-sleeve piece of garment. The rounded neck line has a permanent crease from years of wear and tear, but the distinctly soft texture, the comfort from the gentle fabric made it Katniss' favorite. She would constantly steal from me and I'd find her parading around in it after a week-long disappearance. Upon its return, I could still smell her lingering strawberry shampoo near the collar.

This is one of the things I would save amid a burning fire.

It takes the approach of heavy footsteps to finally knock me out of my reminiscent daze.

"Peeta, you're finally home. I don't think I've seen you in a week," my mother chimes happily as she enters the laundry area, her arms filled with a heaping basket of dirty linen. I watch as she sets it on the floor and observes our surroundings, frowning upon the disaster I've made.

"And what exactly is it that you're doing?" she inquires irritably, hands out in front of her, as if displaying the room.

"I'm trying to find my shirt. It was sitting on the windowsill last night," I say bleakly.

She beams just before perking her hand in the air. It's at that moment when the realization hits me. My stomach sinks from a close distance as I watch her reach into the dryer, sifting through the mound of clothes, casually bringing the article of clothing into view. When she pulls it out and sets it in my shaking hands, I can still feel the crisp warmth from the fabric.

"You're welcome for cleaning up that pigsty. My God, Peeta - I know you've been working hard to save money before you leave, but we'll get ants if you keep that up." I just stand there, thankful for the wall behind me so that I can rest my weight against it. It's amazing how nonchalant she is to all of this; so unaware, so absent-minded. It just makes me want to put my fist through a wall. At least that way I won't hurt her instead.

That shirt was all I had left. It was everything and nothing - and now, when I bring it against my cheek, all I can smell is the light scent of fabric softener when it shouldn't. It should smell like skin, like charcoaled tree bark...like her.

"Peeta, what's wrong?" Mother asks with furrowed brows, reaching forward and touching my shoulder. I immediately retract from her grasp, desperately holding back the agonizing tears burning under my eyelids. My mouth is so dry. I'm losing it.

"Peeta..." She calls out again. I can't take it.

"Why would you do that?!" I lash out, raising my voice. It's the only thing I think I'm capable of at the moment. Anything else would just be too painful, too truthful, and I don't want to do that. I don't want realistic sentiment right now.

"Peeta, what's the matter? It's just a shirt." I can see the worry crossing her face as she gazes at me in wonderment.

"No, it's fucking not," I tell her with cold eyes and watch her chin begin to quiver. I can't stand to be in here anymore. The air is stuffy and it looks like she's going to burst in tears - still better than her acting insane.

I hear her call my name as I make my way up the steps, but it goes ignored. Once I can close my bedroom door behind me, I collapse against it, my throat catching with sobs. Twice more I try, bringing the blue garment back up to my face, but there is no fragrance.

It's gone.

The next two days become a blur of solitude. The hours pass in silence as the shadows creeping through the window come and go. I don't sleep. I hardly eat. Fragments of my broken heart are everywhere. Her stack of hair ties sitting on the bathroom counter, the crunchy peanut butter she was so insistent upon having in the kitchen cabinet, the near empty glass of lemonade that I haven't had the heart to get rid of still on my nightstand - remnants of her lip prints settled on the rim.

It's funny how things work. When life is amazing and you don't seem to have enough hours in the day, time flies. Now, when I just want time to move faster so I can close the wound in my severed heart, it won't. Instead, life is now just a painful reminder of what used to be.

My attempt to drown in despair is thwarted by Delly, however.

Mid-afternoon, she storms through my bedroom door, hands filled with two plastic grocery bags, eagerly plopping them down next to me. After raising my head from my pillow and turning over slightly, barely noticing the gust of light from the window, I cover my face with the downy comforter again and wave her off, signaling to be left alone.

"Ugh, put your arm down. You fucking stink," she complains with a disgusted face while standing close to the side of the bed, staring down at me pitifully. I haven't looked in the mirror long enough to know what I look like, but I am vaguely aware of the oil on my scalp, the spotted pajama bottoms and the sour taste in back of my mouth.

She yanks on the top of the blanket, pulling it down, forcing me to momentarily lock eyes with her.

"Did you hear me? You smell like hot garbage," she comments again.

"Good. All the more reason you should leave," I practically spit at her. She needs to back off. I'm not even close to being as big of a prick as I could be.

When Delly throws her sweatshirt on the desk, it's a clear indication that she will be staying a while. I scoff disgustedly in response, making it known that I don't need a babysitter. I know what's about to begin though, and the reminders are unnecessary.

"You know, no one likes you very much these days. I'm pretty much the only person who can stand to be around you, and to be honest, you're walking a thin fucking line. It's probably a good idea for you to be nice to me."

"Fuck off," I mutter and quickly turn back over, returning my cheek to my pillow, purposefully facing away from her hard glare. Twenty seconds later, I feel a tug from the foot of the bed and cold air suddenly hits my bare skin, leaving a trail of goose-pimples. It's then I can see the blankets balled up on the floor, leaving the daylight openly able to shine on my face - something that hasn't happened in days.

"What the hell?" I ask bitterly, shooting her an angry glance. Delly just stares back at me in disbelief, as though she can't fathom my anger. Is she dense? She's coming in here, chastising me, scolding me like a child, and ripping my comforter off of me as though somehow that's going to placate everything. Well, it's not. Katniss is gone. She isn't coming back, and nothing is going to fucking fix that.

"I don't know who hijacked you and left us with batshit crazy Peeta, but it's scary as hell. You need to get your shit together. I've never seen you like this before, Peet, and it doesn't suit you."

"Whatever. Just leave me alone," I pout, turning back over in bed. It's unexplainable, really. I don't like myself right now, nor am I oblivious to what a mess I am. Yet these responses combined with my behavior are the only things that seem to make sense.

"Nope. You're getting out of this bed." I sense her close behind me, and then feel the palm of her hand as it swiftly strikes the right side of my ass cheek.

"What the...?" I begin to holler at her, bringing my hand down to shield the area, but quickly see that she doesn't care. She's too busy clutching her stomach through fits of amusement, and I'm mad all over again, primarily because my own face can't keep its frown.

I don't want to laugh. It doesn't feel right, not when she isn't around. It's more like a façade, or a guise, only there for appearances. Laughing makes me forget.

"Did you just swat my ass?" I ask, trying desperately not to smile. She nods hysterically in response.

_Stop making me laugh, dammit._

"I strongly dislike you right now," I tell her, genuinely meaning it. Is it so wrong that I just want to be broken? What's the problem with wanting to just fall apart for a little while?

"Yeah, yeah. Feeling is mutual," she says this and begins pulling at my wrists, forcing me to lean my back against the headboard. I sigh in frustration, desperate to be left alone, but she is having none of it. Instead, she spills the contents of the grocery bag on the bed, revealing coloring books, colored pencils, drawing paper and tootsie roll pops.

"We're taking it back old school, fifth grade art class style. You're leaving in two days, Peet. So you've got two choices - you can either color with me and fucking like it, or you can leave a day early. Take your pick."

I look over at her defeatedly as she hands me a pack of colored pencils.

"That's more like it," she says, scooting herself next to my side and opening up the black and white Sailor Moon picture book. We shade silently, reaching across one another to borrow different shaded pencils from one another. However, I quickly find that coloring is not satiating enough. I grab a loose sheet of paper next to me and begin to free handedly draw the characters like I imagined them so long ago. It's been years, but it may as well have been minutes. Sketching is like coming home; no matter how long it's been, I can easily find my way back to it.

Time passes, and I barely even realize when I feel her rest her head against my shoulder. She's watching me excitedly, eyes filled with pride, and maybe even something else I can recognize but don't want to admit.

"I'm going to miss the shit out of you," she says.

* * *

**2005**

"Sailor Moon is gay," Cato criticizes as I show him my drawing. I spent the better half of my Saturday morning watching cartoons and attempting to sketch my favorite characters on paper, and had been exuberantly proud up until this point. Now that I see Cato's twisted face as he looks down at my vibrant Sailor Senshi, I'm not so sure that it's good anymore.

"Cato! Stop being a jerk!" Delly yells at him across the lunch table, slamming her pouch of Capri-Sun down on the green tabletop. Cato looks up from his tray wide-eyed, and I think about my mother when I visibly see the smudge of red pizza sauce at the corner of his lip. She would be telling me how it's not "gentleman-like" to have food on your face.

"What? It sucks," Cato says matter-of-factly, going back to shoving the huge, greasy slice in his mouth. Delly whips one of her fruit snacks at him and it beads off his forehead.

"Peeta, don't listen to him. He's a jerk," Delly assures, but it still doesn't stop the doubt twisting in my stomach.

"Sailor Moon is a girl's show. You shouldn't draw that kind of stuff," Cato points out, slightly chuckling. I hate when he acts like this - like he is some kind of tough guy.

"Have you ever even watched Sailor Moon?" Delly questions him with a disgusted grimace.

"Don't need to. It's for girls," he assures her.

I'm conflicted by this. Delly tells me it's cool, yet Cato tells me it's gay. I don't know who to believe. So later on that afternoon, during art class, I show my drawing to Ms. Trinket so she can look it over. She'll tell me if it's good or not.

"Oh, Peeta! How gifted you are! This is lovely. I'm going to hang this up right over here, that way everyone can see it." Under the mascara and heavily powdered eyelids, her face beams with pride. I watch as she tapes my colored sketch to the wall near the door, where all the finest student art work is displayed. My heart beats rapidly with excitement. I can't wait to go home and tell Dad.

And then I hear feet shuffling behind me.

"HA! What a faggot!" Marvel snickers from a close distance. I turn around and glance at his brand new Michael Jordan shoes. They're the same ones Jovi had seen in the store only three weeks ago, that Mom wouldn't let him buy because they were too expensive. These are the luxuries that the wealthier Springfield kids have, and usually popularity comes along with it. So when he reaches forward and tears the drawing from the wall, I don't protest. He's taller than me, smarter than me, and cooler than me. I can only watch as he races over to the table where Glimmer and her friends sit, painting on their thick cardboard canvases. Seconds later, I catch a glimpse of them exchanging sneers in my direction.

"How fucking gay..."

Their words are like daggers to my soul. I try to let it go, but I'm devastated. Cato is right - the drawing is stupid. I should have listened to him, but I didn't. Only now, their sneers and giggles won't go unnoticed by anyone, especially with Marvel spreading rumors like wildfire.

When the bell rings and I make my way to the sixth period, I can still hear the whispers. It isn't until the seventh period ends and I can go home that I begin to feel a sense of relief. I'm stopped dead in my tracks, however, when I get to my locker.

My drawing of Sailor Moon is plastered to the front of it, but someone has cruelly drawn all over it. They gave her a hanging ball sack between her legs and a phallus-shaped object coming out of her mouth, along with the word 'FAGGOT' written across the top. A sea of people surround me, laughing as I run for the front door, forgetting about my coat and back pack.

I will never draw again.

* * *

**Present**

"It smells like soup in here," Madge shouts from the kitchen area.

Our dorm nearly always smells like this. Beetee is pretty persistent about only eating canned chicken noodle and cocoa pebbles. He's a nice enough guy, really; quiet, intelligent, a little nerdy, but cunning in his own right despite the ill-fitting glasses. Usually, he leaves around his little electronic projects - changing iPhone housing units, repairing computers or iPods for extra cash. To be honest, he's kind of a genius, even if he isn't exactly tidy.

"You can thank Beetee for that," I call to her from the bathroom, hurriedly pushing my arms through the sleeves of my shirt. I sluggishly squeeze the mint paste onto my toothbrush, still not quite ready for the day to begin. Looking up at my reflection, the dark rings under my eyes are quite indicative of that. The cold chill coming from the tile floor makes me want to get back into bed and pull the blankets to my chin, but that's not going to happen. Life awaits, and the brisk October winds have started early, leaving me to cringe thinking about how we have to walk a ways to get to the science building.

Ready as I'm ever going to be, I make my way into the living room, just needing to put on shoes. Madge is leaning nonchalantly against the kitchen counter, awake, vibrant, and clearly waiting on me. Her white knit hat is thick, just barely covering her eyebrows, yet she only has on a light sweatshirt.

"Uh, you forgot your coat," I remind her.

"It's not that bad out. I just don't like my ears being cold," she replies gingerly, smiling widely.

How can she be this awake at 8 AM?

I hear the tips of her fingers drumming the counter. Another minute passes and I still can't find my shoes. I begin rummaging near the hallway closet, looking around, attempting to recall the last time I had them.

"Hey, I have those notes for you from Tuesday," Madge says, browsing near the kitchen counter as I stomp around in frustration, unable to find my footwear.

Where the hell did I leave them?

"Uh, thanks," I reply half-heartedly, my attention focused on finding my shoes. We're already late as it is, and-

I look over and see Madge with her two fingers hooked around the heel of my Pumas, holding them out to dangle in front of me. "Looking for these?" she asks patiently, her voice showing no hint of annoyance, while her face remains completely affable. I can never tell if this calm, kind demeanor is in her nature, or maybe if it's just saved for me.

My throat catches and the thanks I reply with comes out sounding bland.

Seconds later, we're hastily walking out the door, all but sprinting to the science building. I feel awful, knowing I've once again made her late. And to no one's surprise, the biology class is packed, but someone kindly moves a seat down so we can sit together. I watch as Madge pulls out her already printed slides, trying to decipher where we're at in the lecture. Turns out in fifteen minutes, we hadn't missed much.

The material is mundane. There is nothing exciting about glycosis, or the next slide - mitosis. It takes twenty minutes for the following click of the mouse. I begin to doze at one point, but Madge nudges me with her left foot. Every minute feels like an hour. After my third time looking at the clock, she leans over near my ear, allowing me to feel the faintest gust of her warm breath on my lobe. "You should try to pay attention" she whispers ever so quietly. I shake my head at her.

"I hate this class," I whisper back.

"I know," she replies. Her mouth turns up and she chuckles weakly. "Don't worry, next time we'll spend longer trying to find your shoes."

* * *

Drawing helps.

I never realized how much I missed it until I started doing it again. For whatever reason, a pencil in my hand keeps me steady, driving the loneliness away.

At first, I was mainly drawing her, afraid that if I didn't, I would begin to lose things. It's quite possible that forgetting her is my biggest fear; although this person, this quintessential version of Katniss that I now keep with me is watered down. I only recall what I want to most - the curvature of her shoulders, the way her hip bones felt under my hands, the way that loose strands of hair would fall across her face. Meaningless things, really; just what I can take without feeling like my heart is going to crumble. It's just enough that I won't forget her, but enough to keep the pain at bay.

But lately, I've started to draw other things. For example, Delly's favorite spot in the park with snow covered trees, and my grandfather's petulant, yet loving gaze as he would tend to my grandmother's garden. I sketch the morning sky just before the sun peaks or rust colored leaves blowing in the autumn wind.

I notice the same rust colored leaves when Madge and I walk to Biology. And as soon as we take our seats, I open my textbook, recalling a diagram that had previously sparked my interest. I find myself lightly shading in my three ring notebook to pass the time, bringing to life the double helix in its three dimensional form.

Madge leans over and softly asks, "What are you doing?" I've become increasingly aware of her these last few weeks, learning just how dangerous those perfectly blue eyes can be. All it takes is for her to look at me a certain way, or to flash me that kind smile, and I'll be forever angry at myself. I don't trust myself to be good to her, nor do I deserve her. And all I can think about when I look at her is that she deserves the world.

She leans over even farther and grasps the notebook from me so she can examine it closely. "Peet, you're amazing. This is crazy good..."

I shrug, disregarding her praise; but in reality, it echoes through me, giving me confidence, boding the grip on my pencil. I feel powerful. Invincible even. I want to see her lips say it again and again.

Suddenly, when I have my notebook back, the light shaded lines become a little darker.

* * *

Madge is sprawled across my bed flat on her belly, her biology book laid out in front of her. The heel of my bare foot isn't far from her hand, and when she goes to turn a page, the tips of her fingers graze across my skin. I shriek immediately from the overwhelming fluttering sensation and impulsively, I jerk away. It's too late, though. She knows what has happened, and her wide eyed expression is all too dawning.

"Oh my God! You're ticklish," she accuses. I hate being tickled. Hate it. Immediately, I tuck my feet away, fearful she may try again. My face becomes flushed, and being a bit embarrassed, I attempt to act serious.

"Um, I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're such a bad liar. You're totally ticklish." She's teasing now, reaching forward and grabbing a hold of my legs. She's prying, trying to get to those hidden toes, but I won't allow it. When she realizes this, she moves on top of me, grabbing a hold of my wrists and attempting to pin me down, but she isn't strong enough. Her raspy breaths quicken as she wears herself out, and it's in that moment that I feel the rapid beat of her heart against my chest. I'm all too aware now, growing still while her weight presses against me, noticing just how warm her touch is, how welcoming, how oddly unfamiliar. And despite it being tangible and right in front of me, all I want to do is let it go, turn it away.

"I've gotta go," I tell her, pushing her to the side and pulling away.

* * *

Every time I press the lead tip against of my writing utensil against the blank white paper, only one thing seems to appear - a girl with a long, thick braid standing in the woods, wearing her father's old hunting jacket and tall, worn boots.

I lunge my pencil against the wall in frustration.

Drawing isn't helping today.

* * *

Usually, I don't drink much.

Well, I try not to. That's easier said than done these days, as parties are plentiful in Wonders Hall. For the second time since I've been here, our dorm room is nearly full of people coming and going, many of those who I've never even seen before. And as the music thrums loudly, I seriously wonder how well I'll be able to hear tomorrow after all is said and done.

"There you are..." Madge is grinning widely, approaching me with a plastic cup filled to the brim. I bring it to my lips, able to smell the cheap vodka and Sprite right away. It doesn't matter though, because I drink it quickly, ignoring the already full feeling in my stomach. I like the light dizziness that begins to permeate; it kind of takes over, masking all the other things at the forefront of my mind. There are no consequences, not for a little while anyway. Everything just...fades to grey.

Her tight fitting V-neck shirt is riding up, revealing the smooth, pale skin near her back. I allow myself to look only for a moment before reverting my gaze back up.

Madge moves her back against the wall and inches close to me, attempting not to spill the contents of her cup everywhere. She fails at this, clear liquid splashing all around the side and onto the floor. I have to move my foot out of the way to avoid contact.

"Did you finish your paper for Sociology?"

I shake my head at her, answering "not yet." I contemplate on elaborating, but can't think of anything else to say. Instead, I just stand there in silence, waiting for her to strike up another topic.

A few minutes later, Madge finally conjures up something.

"That shirt is adorable on you," she compliments with a smile, lazily reaching forward to smooth out the collar. Her fingers linger near opening at the top where the buttons aren't done. I draw in a breath, staring down at her face blankly for a moment, unsure of what her next action might be. Every time she touches me, I sense a warmth stirring and my heart begins to wake. It's been unconscious for so long...

"Thanks. You look nice, too." I answer while smiling in her direction. I down another gulp of my drink, feeling a bit fluttery now. I'm also fatigued, however, but choose to ignore this and opt for a refill.

It's not many drinks later that Madge starts becoming more physical. Her arms start making their way around my waist, and her head finds its way to my chest. I know the alcohol is beginning to affect me as well, and even though I'm not exactly comfortable with the situation, I stop fighting it. I don't want to think anymore, even when she's planting soft kisses down my neck.

"You smell like rain," she murmurs against my skin, her leg crossed over mine on the living room couch.

I've never had anyone notice the things she notices, or maybe they have and just never said anything. But it's gratifying that Madge recognizes when I forget to shave, thanks me when I hold open doors, and can tell that I use scented soap. It's these small things that make the difference - allowing someone to know you care. And it's nice to know that she does.

Something is off, though. I can tell by the way she looks right now, as though she is about to say something, but it won't come out. Her tongue darts over her lips as she gazes at me, clearly concentrating. It's then that her desired words finally escape.

"I still love you, Peeta," she says with glossy eyes. As drunk as we both are, I know it's genuine. My heart races. Madge is dangerously close, and I can smell the sweetness from her mouth as she breathes against my cheek. And then, she wraps her hands around the back of my neck and begins drawing me towards her lips. My mouth is dry. My hands quiver. The room is practically spinning. Yet, when our mouths touch, I can't pull away. Her skin on mine makes me realize just how much I've craved human contact. Maybe it's because of the liquor, or maybe it's because I just want to feel something, anything. Or just maybe it's because if it can't be Katniss, it has to be somebody else. Either way, when she whispers into my mouth again how much she loves me, I use my lips to silence her.

What the fuck am I doing right now?

It's not right. In fact, this is all wrong. I don't want to be that guy she points out five years from now, telling stories to her friends about what a jerk I am. In reality, I should be walking away, giving her distance, allowing her to find someone worthwhile. But every time her hands run across my back, I can't think of anything I want more except...

_Her hand rests across the crook of my neck. I feel its removal, followed by a single finger running across the line of my clavicle. A needy feeling starts building and bubbling in me all over again._

_"Where did you even come from?" she asks so softly that I almost don't hear it. I look down at her, watching her nervously fumbling with her hands, her backside pressed against the wood front of the piano._

_I can't help but think that even though she isn't saying exactly it, this must be love. This must be what it feels like to know the difference._

Will I always do this? Will these thoughts always plague me? Will I always compare her to everyone else? _Don't think about her anymore_ , I tell myself. She's gone; distant, light years away from me. There is no reason to ponder her actions, no reason to wonder, and the scrutiny will only serve to drive me insane.

* * *

My head is pounding. My calves feel slick with sweat and my mouth tastes like chalk. There is a certain heat around me, like I'm not in this bed alone. It isn't until I look down and see a long set of muscular legs intertwined with mine that I remember what happened last night.

 _Fuck_.

Careful not to wake her, I make my way out of bed and decide to continue my normal routine. After I wipe the sleepiness from my eyes, brew a pot of coffee and pour myself a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, Madge comes out of the bedroom in nothing but the shirt I was wearing last night.

"Hey," she says leaning forward and brushing her mouth up against mine, tasting like my mint toothpaste. She must have used my toothbrush. The thought makes me cringe, and with little effort, I move away.

"What are your plans for the day?" she asks with an energy that is just too much for me right now. I watch as she scoots herself on to the countertop, leaving her legs to dangle over the edge as she kicks them happily back and forth.

"Uh, probably just working on that paper."

"Do you need help?"

"Oh, no. Thanks, though. I'm just going to go to the library and work on it for the day."

"Well, I could come by after," she suggests.

"Maybe..."

I suppose my voice sounds rather disinterested, and this causes her to raise an eyebrow at me inquisitively. Sometimes I forget just how long Madge has known me, and better than just about anyone, she can see through the bullshit.

"God, I should have known this was going to happen." Her voice is elevated, slightly irritated as she puts a hand over her face, shaking her head slowly. "I knew it. You're still hung up on her, and you're going to be weird now."

I place a glass bowl in front of her and hold out the box of cereal. "Fruity Pebbles?" I ask with a smile, my feeble attempt to lighten the mood. But she doesn't look amused. As a matter of fact, she looks anything but.

"Look, I'm not even sure what happened last night. I hardly remember anything," I attempt to explain, but she cuts me off.

"You're such a bad liar. Just stop," she hollers at me, tears welling in the corner of her perfect eyes.

Madge leaves the table as bitter and angry as I've ever seen her. I can hear shuffling from the bedroom as she grabs her things and just sit there, thinking about how I've royally fucked everything up. I consider possibly chasing her outside, maybe even displaying some sort of heroic effort about how much I care for her. But, I don't. Instead, I sit there shoving spoonfuls of Fruity Pebbles in my mouth, and just watch her slam the door as she leaves.

* * *

It's when I arrive late to Biology a few days later that my heart begins to sink. I notice her sitting in the crowded front row, having strayed from our normal spot, and as crowded as this city can get, it gets equally as lonely without her.

I must seem like the biggest jerk ever. Here is this perfect girl - no, woman - who is intelligent, kind and compassionate, and for whatever reason, she loves me. She's perfect. Yet somehow, I can't seem to get it right.

So when I approach her after class two days later and watch her stare up at me, grasping her wrists in a shy and self-conscious manner, I blame myself.

"I'm a jerk. Forgive me?" I ask. I know she's hurt, and I know it's because of me. I know I'll do it again, too. But next time, I'll be more careful. I'll control my actions better, that way I won't drag her heart through the mud. I'll make sure she knows I just need a friend. I won't confuse her. I won't, I won't...

"Of course, Peeta. I can't stay mad at you," she replies, her eyes contemplative yet decisive at the same time. It's almost as if she had already known she was going to forgive me.

The day passes, and with the ones that follow, I make good on my internal promise of keeping her at arm's length. Yet I still see her stealing glances, looking at me in the most peculiar way. I know it will continue, because for her, loving me is only inevitable.

The weather grows colder. Snow intermittently begins to dust the grass. Halloween passes with cocktails and costumes. Thanksgiving arrives and the campus clears. For the first time, I spend a holiday not at my parents' dining room table. Instead, Madge and I waste it together, eating boxed mashed potatoes and store bought turkey, debating over which movie to see at the local landmark theatre.

"I'm not watching Gone With the Wind," I tell her.

"And I'm not sitting through Star Wars," she fires back, those bright eyes blazing at me from across the table. We finally end up agreeing on an independent film neither of us has seen, and bundle up before entering the bitter winter chill.

The theatre isn't too far, but it's small and cramped, unlike anything I'm used to back home. The movie posters on the wooden paneled walls are of classic, well known films. The bright red carpet under my feet has a distinct older smell. Everything is vintage. As we walk down the dim corridor and into the meager, empty theatre itself, Madge intertwines her fingers with mine. This is the first physical contact we've had since...that night.

She looks over at me with a questioning glance, as if to ask whether this is okay, but I don't say anything. How can I? I don't want to lose her. These simple gestures make her so incredibly happy, and it's easier for me to be happy when she's happy.

Madge heads to the back row and sits in the corner, and I follow suit. She shrugs off her coat and settles in. Even in the dimness, I can still make out the pink tip of her nose from the cold air.

"Feel my hands," she says pressing the cool skin against my cheek. "I'm freezing..."

I smile at her and she uses this opportunity to lean against me, insisting that it's so she can gather warmth. I feel a shift in her pose, and then she's running her hand along the length of my sleeve. It's a kind gesture, but one with ulterior motives. I know what she is looking for. She wants the reassurance that she needs to continue on with bodily contact.

I smile at her, possibly because I don't know what else to do. This was bound to happen. Perhaps I could play coy and try to fend her off a little longer. It wouldn't get me very far though. It would only be a matter of time before the drawn out discussions begin again, and we'll end up right back where we started from.

I can sense her gaze upon me in the darkness. She blinks. Her mouth comes up to meet the corner of my own, and her tongue pushes between my lips. I allow her hands to roam free, to tangle through my hair, and graze across the stubble on my chin. The kisses quickly become more fervent as her confidence grows. When her hand lands near my inner thigh and moves upward, my breath hitches. I suppose I shouldn't be so flabbergasted by her boldness, but I am regardless.

And then I hear a rustling, and watch her as she kneels before me in my seat. "What are you doing?" I ask in a hoarse whisper, looking around the deserted theatre, slightly panicked. She brings a single finger to my lips to hush me, then begins unbuckling my belt. I can't stop her. This is crazy. She's crazy. Yet when she frees me from my jeans and begins taking me in her mouth, my sweaty palms grip tighter on the plastic armrest.

There is no turning back now.


	16. Chapter 16

**2009**

My lips quiver as he leans against the counter, leisurely picking sweet basil from the vine while daylight streams in from the kitchen window. On the cutting board next to him sits a large knife resting on its side, the edge of the blade coated with remnants of fresh minced garlic. I make sure to watch intently as he transfers a bowl of toasted pine nuts to the blender, that way I can mimic the recipe when he's not around. It's hard because I find myself getting easily distracted; the aroma of all these things combined is lush and heavenly, and I can barely control my mouth as it begins to water.

"What did I tell you, Peeta? Good things come to those who wait..." My grandfather turns his upper body to look at me, flashing those wise eyes, clearly saying what he is pretty much always trying to convey - patience is a virtue.

Waiting is not my forte.

He says that eagerness is in my blood; that even as a young child, I had been apt to run instead of walk. I suppose this is true even now, especially since I've been anxiously bugging him to pluck the fragrant green leaves growing on the plant in the bay windowsill for the past week. He wouldn't, however, until today, assuring me that pesto sauce tastes best when made with proper ingredients. But I keep thinking about that batch he'd prepared all those months ago and how succulent it had been.

Whatever, I think. While I'm spending a few weeks of my summer here, I plan on asking for it about seven more times, especially on the days when his memory is sharp like today.

"Here, Peeta. Grind these leaves for me. I'll be right back," Grandpa hoarsely orders while quickly heading towards the hall bathroom. I can't even try to hide it; I'm a bit elated that he has given me a task. For the most part, I've only been able to observe and am getting a bit antsy just standing over his shoulder.

Quite fascinated, I watch the leaves grind in the blender along with the other ingredients, not appearing the least bit appetizing. How does this eventually taste so good? It's far too thick right now and almost smells overly spicy. But I know after watching him last time, there is more to be added.

I recognize the glass bottle of olive oil sitting a few short inches away as the same type of liquid he added last time. Thrilled that I remembered this, I dump the whole container in with the other ingredients and switch the blender motor to its highest setting.

"Peeta, what are you doing?" Grandpa asks, returning to my side with a hard, questioning glare.

"I added the olive oil. I remembered you telling me that was the key ingredient," I answer him with eyes full of pride.

"Peeta, I told you to be patient. You weren't supposed to add that yet. It needs to be added gradually. Look - it's ruined."

It's then that I see his pointing finger guiding me to the separating mixture. All of the oil sits at the bottom as the ground-up ingredients float to the top.

I messed it up.

It's disappointing to be so sure of yourself, only to find out you had it all wrong. It figures - all I wanted to do was show him that I listen to the things he says, but I just accomplished the complete opposite.

"Well, we have to start over," he tells me, sounding perturbed as he slowly begins pulling things from the cabinets all over again. I look at the ground in shame.

"Start over? Can't we just fix it?" I'm afraid to lift my head and look at him again, but I do it anyway. He doesn't look angry like I expect him to, but instead, he's chuckling.

"Peeta, no. First of all, it's completely separated. Second, you added too much oil. If you want pesto, we have to make it over, plain and simple."

His hard gaze rests upon me, awaiting me to tell him what I want to do. I'm too angry with myself to decide at the moment, however. "I guess I just don't understand why we can't pour the oil out and fix it," I mumble defeatedly.

"Because that's not going to fix it. It's still going to separate. Sometimes you just have to start over. You can either help me grab the stuff and we can make it over again, or we can move on to TV dinners. Take your pick."

His voice is beginning to lose its cool demeanor now, but to be honest, his curt nature isn't really surprising. I'm actually flabbergasted he has been as patient as he has been thus far. With anyone else, he probably would have lost it long ago. Perhaps my lengthy visits have made him a little more tender towards me.

"How long is it going to take?" I whine. I don't feel like doing the extra dishes I know he'll make me do on top of waiting longer. My stomach growls simultaneously as I think this, as if it's pleading its case.

"As long as it takes. That's life," he says.

I cast a confused look over at him, furrowing my brows in the process. "What do you mean?" I ask.

"I mean, good things take time and work. And anything in this world that's worth somethin' requires work. Everybody knows that."

I expect him to add more, but he grows tired of our conversation. Instead, he heads for his burly recliner and props up his feet just before opening a coffee stained newspaper.

It's just then that I hear his fading voice from the other room call out.

"Peeta, I'm not waiting all day. I'm old. Time is not on my side."

* * *

**Present**

I gently rub the red spot on my temple. It's perfectly in line with where it had been resting against the cool, partially foggy truck window. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and let out a satisfactory sigh, appreciative of the silence. The radio is off, which means no more Taylor Swift, at least for a little while. The silence also allows me to better hear the way the wind whistles against the car window, a sound I have grown to love over the years. It's lovely.

"Up from your nap, sleepy head?" Madge asks, reaching her hand over to my knee, caressing it gently. I grow still from her touch, not quite yet adjusted to this level of intimacy with her. I sigh angrily with myself, worrying that she notices. But if she does, she isn't saying anything. I can't say how grateful I am for this, because I can't deal with another talk about feelings right now.

The pitch black road ahead is a breath of fresh air - one that represents time, really. We had left in the early afternoon, right after Madge's last final exam to begin our nine hour drive back home. Christmas break is a beautiful thing. I know it if was up to Madge, though, we would have waited another couple of days before leaving. But I think after watching me count down the days on the calendar, she didn't dare suggest it. She even joked about me "leaving without her."

I would have.

"How are you doing? Need me to drive for a while?" I ask, trying to be considerate of the fact that she's been at the wheel since early afternoon.

She shakes her head while taking a small sip from her coffee, her white knit hat snug around her ears. "Nah. We only have about an hour left. I'll be fine."

This allows me to drift back in my seat without guilt and close my eyes. I don't wake again until I hear the driver's side door slam. When I come to, I see that we're in my parents' driveway. I'm beyond happy to see it.

Home.

As I carry our bags up to my bedroom at two in the morning, I notice that everything is exactly as I remembered it, yet entirely different. It's almost hard to believe I've only been gone for four months when it somehow seems like an eternity.

Madge collapses on the bed in exhaustion. I just lay next to her, curled up in a ball. It's bittersweet to be in my own bedroom.

I wake up the next morning feeling the best I have in a month.

"Where are you going, Peet?" My father asks as I head out the front door, on my way to the restaurant to pick up some breakfast for Madge. I figured it would be a nice thing for her to wake up to.

"Just up to the restaurant. Want me to grab something while I'm out?"

Hesitancy and worry seem to string across his face, and I almost wonder if it's something I said. "Uh, the restaurant, eh? You sure you don't want me to pick it up after your long drive yesterday?"

I narrow my eyes at him, unable to pinpoint what he's trying to get at. "Dad, it's like a five minute drive. I'll be there and back in less than a half hour."

"Son, you've got to be tired..." His insistency leads me to believe something is amiss.

"I got it. You want something or not?"

Reluctantly, he shakes his head. "I'll talk to you when you get back."

As I scrape the frost from my driver's side window, I contemplate the odd conversation I just had with my father.

Upon my arrival at Honest Abe's is when it happens, though; my father's odd behavior becomes blatantly evident when a long, cascading braid immediately comes into view. Her apron hangs loosely below the crisp, white polo white shirt that advertises the restaurant logo. It's neatly tucked into her dress pants as she carries a tray through the dining room with beverages balanced on it.

My heart skips a beat, and I quickly try to gather myself. But she comes back around much too soon, before I can regain my composure. When she finally takes notice of me, she stops dead in her tracks.

Blue meets grey for the first time in months. Our eyes lock together for what seems like an eternity, rendering one another quite speechless. My breathing becomes so shallow that I'm afraid to keep holding her gaze. She's the first to look away though, nervously grappling her wrists before glancing to the windows.

What the hell is happening right now?

"Katniss?" I ask, as if to confirm it's her. Why, I don't know because I can clearly see it's her. It's more of a general question as to why she is here and not in New York? Why is she wearing the uniform of my family's restaurant? Why...

"Hey..." she says perfectly pitched, polite as can be.

"Wait, what are you...you're here? Why? I thought..." I can't seem to form a complete sentence. Nothing makes sense right now.

"Your Dad hired me about a month ago..." She says this so easily, like it's nothing. I'm trying to figure out how her voice isn't shaky right now when I can barely form a logical thought.

Her answer ignites a million more questions, but before I can ask, three people walk in behind me, waiting to be seated. "I have to get them," she says, directing her hand behind me and maneuvering past my frame. I watch as she takes them to a booth, her smile warm and delightful. My chest begins to ache, and I find that just being in the same room as her is filling me with something even I don't understand. And while I stare, feeling it build, I'm quite certain it will break me.

When I return home, my father and I find ourselves amid a heated argument for the first time.

"She needed work, I needed an employee. What's the problem?" he asks while heaving a heavy Rubbermaid container filled with Christmas decorations, trying to angle it to clear the doorway. His breath fills the cold winter air as we exit the garage and make our way to the back door.

"My problem is that you hired her. No one thought that might not be a good idea? How am I supposed to work now while I'm home?" I ask a bit breathlessly as I set the tree stand down in the living room. I wonder if he's even paying attention as he looks over at me with a blank stare.

Then he glares at me. It's one that seems to insinuate that my behavior is erratic.

"What?" I ask as he continues to gaze at me. I'm really trying to mimic his congenial composure. I'm sure, if it were any other topic, this wouldn't be an issue. But for some reason, Katniss seems to be an exception to just about everything.

"Peeta, nobody said you can't work. You're not being logical. You two don't hate each other; she only ever says good things about you. I guess I just don't see what the big deal is. She's a good girl and works hard. It didn't make sense for me not to hire her."

My breath hitches."She says good things about me?" I ask wistfully.

"Of course, Peeta..."

He blows warm air onto his glove covered fingers before heading out the back door again. I follow suit, his comment still fluttering around in my head. I hesitate before speaking again, trying to choose my words carefully. Maybe if there was a way to explain what I'm feeling, to make him understand why, he'll reason with me...

"Dad, I see where you're coming from, but this is really uncomfortable. I'm with Madge now," I tell him.

There are also things that I can't tell him - like how I owe this to Madge, since she has patiently waited for me and loved me despite everything.

But explaining that Katniss stirs up things in me that Madge couldn't in a million lifetimes; that I go to bed at night, still dreaming of her, and wake to do the same... these are things that I can't even find the words for right now, or possibly ever.

"You're a young man now, Peeta. You have to figure it out. I'm sure in due time, you will. I trust you will."

He makes his way out into the cold again and stands near the door, staring at me. "Don't just look at me...we've got a few more boxes yet."

* * *

I don't know why I thought it would be such a big deal working with her. She won't even look at me. Not unless she has to, anyway.

The first day is the most awkward. Every time she passes through carrying trays or grabbing utensils, my body stiffens at the sight of her. Katniss, however, proves to be a master of avoidance to the point of ridiculousness. By the third day when she begins to avert my gaze, I feel compelled to do the same. So I plot ways to avoid her at all costs, until somehow it becomes a routine for us; dodging one another in the break room, talking to co-workers in a close proximity, but not to each other. It's actually easier than I imagined it would be.

That is, until we have a collision in front of the prep area.

As I'm carrying two sacks of flour over my shoulder, she fleetingly comes into view, her head turned in the other direction as she hollers to a co-worker. Once I take notice of her, I immediately stop my feet, but she keeps going and smacks right into my solid chest, knocking both her and I off balance. The bottom sack of flour hits the floor hard and upon impact, white dust explodes upward, immediately covering my face and hair.

"Oh my God! Peeta, I'm so sorry..."

Her hand is over her face, trying not to laugh as her back is flat against the floor. Dust lingers all around us as I wipe the flour from my eyes, taking notice of the huge disaster made. It's everywhere, including her arms and chest.

Just as I press my palms to the floor to get up, she leans over me, still laughing and begins to fretfully brush the tiny white particles from my hair. I become rigid when the tips of her fingers intermittently press against my scalp and gently course through my curls. As she grazes the sides, her thumb softly caresses my ear, sending heat throughout my neck and down my spine. Her touch is still just the way I remember it, and I can only let out a small, involuntary sigh.

Her smile diminishes. When she pulls her hand away, it's quick, as if she put it over a fire. I swear I see it slightly trembling along the way.

I glare down at my body and begin dusting flour off the front of me. She stands and I hear her step closer, but then pull away. I don't look up.

She returns hastily with a broom, but I take it from her hands. "I've got it," I tell her.

Our collision burns in my mind. It's all I can think about for the remainder of the day, and when I get home that night and take Madge slowly against the wall of shower tiles, I tell myself not to imagine her. Not to think about those light caresses to the side of my face, or that olive skin covered with sweat and flour. But even Madge's ordinary kisses and soft whimpers aren't enough to erase it from my memory this time, and when I come, it's impossibly good.

Katniss is being more awkward than usual tonight.

She isn't just avoiding me. That I can deal with. But this Katniss - the downright nasty one, is quite difficult to ignore.

After screaming at me for the second time in front of the staff, I nearly lose it.

It isn't until we're closing up for the night that I build enough nerve to ask her what's wrong. I corner her outside near the back door, watching her hands fidget nervously in her coat pockets. A cold gust of wind blows through her hair as the streetlight shines down on us.

"Katniss, what's going on with you? You can't just yell at me like that..."

"I'm sorry," she mutters knowingly.

"It's just that I'm kind of the boss when my Dad is gone..."

"I'm sorry, okay? It won't happen again. Are we done?"

Her demeanor reminds me so much of that night at the video store. It makes my throat catch, my stomach clench, and suddenly, I just want hold her. But that can't happen, so instead I slowly nod my head at her, watching her turn away only to grow smaller in the distance.

When I finally get home, I find Madge propped up in bed reading a book, her back against the headboard. She's bundled under the heavy blankets, fighting off the evening chill that lingers in the poorly insulated Mellark house.

"Hey..." she says, folding her book closed and looking up at me. "You're finally back. I've been waiting up for you."

Of course she has - she always does, and it's just as irritating today as it is any other day.

It's easier to ignore her than to respond, so I just walk to the bathroom, hoping she'll catch on to the fact that I'm not in a talking mood. I'm not in an anything mood really, and I'm sure my temperament at the moment is less than tolerable. It's all the more reason why she should just give me some space.

I turn the knobs in the shower and let the water flow so it can warm. But alas, I sense her footsteps approaching behind me as I begin to pull off my socks. When I feel her arms wrap around my waist from behind, I begin to turn and protest, but my mouth drops open instead.

"What are you wearing?" I ask.

It's a stupid question - one that really doesn't need to be answered. She's wearing my blue shirt, the blue shirt. It's big on her and hangs awkwardly off her shoulders, reaching just past her waist. I think about how much bigger it was on Katniss, and how it would come down almost to her knees.

Madge sits on the toilet and props her legs up, bending her knees in front of her. This position allows her to stretch the cotton fabric so it goes down to her feet and encompasses her bare skin. I tell myself not to get upset, even though it doesn't belong on her. It belongs on Katniss.

"Oh, I forgot to pack pajamas," she answers leisurely. "I stole this. I hope that's okay."

I feel my throat catch and heat rise to my cheeks. The warmth alone is enough to drive me mad as she licks her lips and purses her mouth.

"It's not okay, but I guess I don't really have a choice since you already have it on."

She furrows her brow and looks at me, slightly bewildered. "Wait, are you mad?"

I let the silence speak for me.

"Peeta, it's just a stupid shirt." Nothing escapes from my lips.

"So I guess I should take it off?" she asks, slightly sarcastic and non-empathetic.

More silence.

She rises and stands before me, her eyes blazing, testing my patience. "Is that what you want? Answer me, god dammit!"

"Yes, just fucking take it off!" My words grow colder and sharper in the small bathroom. I can't look at her anymore and turn away. I can feel her gaze upon me, however, and hear the dragging of her footsteps against the cold tiles. Fabric rustles as the shirt drops to the floor and I suddenly fall silent. I turn, looking at her now exposed bare breasts covered with goose-pimples. Her expression is faltered, blank even, and perfectly shattered. At that moment, shame takes over whatever anger I was previously feeling. I plop myself on the edge of the tub with my hands over my face, defeated, softly whispering that I'm sorry.

It looks like she's about to leave the room, but when she sees me, she returns and kneels before me, her hand under my jaw, forcing me to make direct eye contact.

"Peeta, I don't know what you want me to do," she says with a practically broken voice, tears welling in the crevices of her eyes. "Tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it. Whatever it is, I'll do it. All I need to hear is that it will make a difference to you."

I feel like someone has gutted me from the inside out. Looking at her right now, and know that I'm the cause of such despair. I never wanted this, yet I knew it would come. And rather turning her away when it would hurt less, I acted as a coward. Now I've run the risk of breaking her spirit - destroying her for any other man in the future that may actually deserve her affection. She will never trust again, and it's all because of me.

"It won't," I answer with a fading voice, the most honest thing I've said in months.

The room suddenly appears black, and she lets go of my face as reality clings to her. Eyes that were once filled with happiness are now devoid, and when she stands and leaves the room, she doesn't look back.

The following morning when I wake, her side of the bed is empty.

* * *

"I can't believe you weren't in love with a woman who gave you a BJ at the movies," Delly jokes as I grip the bars of the merry-go-round. After getting a running start, I use all my might and push hard, sending her spinning in circles. I watch as she leaves and comes into view again, and then more slowly as the speed dies.

It's not a bright morning, but the type of glum, chilly day you would expect on Christmas Eve, even if all of the snow is melted.

"I can't believe she told you about that."

"Whatever. She was my friend long before you came around." This isn't the first time Delly has said it, and I'm sure it won't be the last time I roll my eyes at it.

"And you deserved to be dumped. She's way too good for you," she quips.

"For once, something we can agree on," I tell her as I lift myself on the metal platform across from her. I situate myself so that my back is pressed against the cool metal. We lay flat, scooting until our heads touch in the middle, just like always. It's then that she lets out a satiated sigh.

"What?" I ask, grinning from her blatant happiness.

"I'm just glad you're home, Peet."

But then, my grin disappears. The compliment is only a reminder that I'll be gone again soon. Not wanting to go back is a thought that has crossed my mind a million times.

"Yeah," I tell her, a bit disconsolate.

"Peet, why bother going back? Just stay here."

"Trust me, I want to."

"She quit New York, you know."

I furrow my brows at this. "What do you mean?"

"Katniss - she hated New York. She came back before the semester even ended. She was miserable, apparently."

"Did she say why?" I ask.

"The only thing she said to me is that it wasn't for her."

"So what's she going to do now?"

Delly shrugs. "Work at your family's restaurant? What am I, her fucking keeper? How the hell should I know?"

Despite myself and the thudding of my quickening heartbeat, I try to act cool. "It doesn't matter. I'll be gone in a couple of weeks, anyway."

She sits up and crosses her legs Indian-style, allowing those eyes to beam down at me with anger. "That's stupid talk and you know it."

"I have to..."

"No, you don't," Delly insists. Little clouds form from her breath as the wind picks up, leaving that whistling sound behind.

"Maybe I can try to fix things with Madge," I tell her. I'd be lying if I said the idea hadn't been swimming around in my head all morning, regardless of the fact that it's probably not a good one.

"Are you fucking stupid? You're worrying about everything you shouldn't be right now. You need to bring your ass back here and try to fix things with Katniss. You know, the other relationship you royally fucked up."

I throw my hands up in frustration. "I thought I was doing the right thing, okay? Gale wanted me to make sure she went to New York, my parents wanted me to use my scholarship. I just-."

"You were just doing what everyone else wanted you to do. And now you're miserable."

I nod my head defeatedly, letting it hang low.

"Get your shit together, Mellark. You're still a mess." Delly says as she jumps off the merry-go-round to the damp, frost-coated grass.

"You are, too, you know," I shout out with a smile.

"Pffftt!" She begins walking away, her feet moving quickly. I follow suit and jump down from the merry-go-round, chasing her through the trees.

"Hey!" I call out to her as I grow closer. Once she hears my voice, Delly turns around and her body stills while her eyes gaze at me inquisitively.

"What?" she asks impatiently as I approach her.

"What about Mitch? What about him? You say you're not a mess, yet you still haven't figured that out."

"What about Mitch, Peet?"

"Well, do you love him?"

"Of course," she answers, as if it's some well-known fact.

"So..." Delly lets out a bitter chuckle and a petulant expression sweeps across her face.

"So, he isn't you. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

I feel all the blood rush awkwardly to my cheeks. It's chilling, and forces me to swallow hard. "No..." I tell her, looking at her confused. _I thought..._

"I'm not going to do to him what you did to Madge. When I'm ready, he'll know, and maybe I'll be lucky enough that he won't find someone else by then. So yes, Peeta - even though it may not seem like it to you, my life is in order. Thanks for trying to say otherwise, though."

"Delly, I didn't mean it like that..."

With glistening eyes, she says, "You never do, Peet."

It's hard to tell where this is coming from. I'm not sure what to make of it. When I go to speak, she interrupts me.

"Look, I'll see you tomorrow, alright? For Christmas?"

She doesn't want to talk anymore. This happens periodically, but I've known Delly long enough to know that it's just for today. She can never stay mad at me for too long.

"For Christmas," I tell her, giving a weak smile, watching her go her separate way.

My walk home is quiet.

I half expect Jovi and Mitch to be awake when I get home, picking at Mom's deviled eggs and sipping spiked eggnog. But when I open the front door, the house is as still as ever. As soon as I click the door shut, my mother comes into view, hair strewn about and shadows clouded under her eyes. It honestly looks like she hasn't slept for a week. The last time I remember her looking like this, my grandfather had died.

"Mom? Are you okay?" I ask carefully.

"What is this, Peeta?" She holds up a single slice of paper with print. Once closer, I see it's from Michigan State. I immediately pull it from her hands, and read the contents, which states that I'm on academic probation.

Thirty seconds later, she begins to blow. What I presume should be a basic lecture soon becomes belittling, and after forty five minutes, I'm nearly at my breaking point.

"You need to take this seriously, Peeta. Half trying isn't going to get you anywhere in life," she snarks. Every word makes me clench my fists even harder. And as she continues to insult my efforts, I think I may rip the cloth of her expensive recliner right off the armrest.

"Doesn't the campus offer tutoring? You could-."

"I'm not going back," I finally say through gritted teeth. The words that haven't been able to come for the last forty minutes are now all at the tip of my tongue.

Her eyes widen, nostrils flare, and I can see the shock on her face in the way she holds her gaze. It shakes me to the core when she grows silent and her bewilderment obviously turns to disappointment. I should be afraid that I've failed her, but I'm not. This isn't about her anymore.

"What do you mean?" she asks in a harsh, austere manner.

"I don't want to go back. I want to stay here. I'll take classes at the community college if I have to." I stay strong, never allowing my face to falter. I can't allow it; she will eat up any sign of weakness and use it against me.

"No. You're going back," she insists.

"No, I'm not."

"As long as you stay in this house, you will stay at university."

"Then I'll stay in another house," I tell her. "I'll get an apartment and go back to working full time at the restaurant."

"I will never allow that," she bellows, her eyes fiery and filled with anger.

"I don't need your permission."

She stares at me harshly, never averting her eyes from mine. I know she is trying to intimidate me into returning, but I'm not allowing her to win this time. I'm not going please her at my expense.

"You're going to ruin your whole life for some girl," she says coldly.

"Maybe. But at least I'm the one making the decision."

She rises to her feet in frustration and wipes her dampened eyes. "Foolish boy," she mutters. Her voice lacks kindness and patience, but these are things my mother doesn't possess. So instead of raising my voice or arguing, because I know it will get me nowhere, I hesitate and wait for her next words.

Her legs quiver as she stands over me. "I don't know why I get myself worked up about you boys. I should have known better than to think you would make something of yourself. You're all just like your father."

I bring myself to my feet, that way I can be eye level with her when I say what I'm about to say.

"I hope you know I consider that a compliment."

"Well, it wasn't meant to be one," she spits.

I chuckle disgustedly. "I know. That's what's sad."

And when her cold stare cast upon me grows bleak and empty and her face softens, I let her words go. Her manipulative tears fall, but I pay no attention to those, either. They can't hurt me anymore.

* * *

**1999**

I attempt to choke back my sobs as he knots his laces, but it's no use. He's leaving, like he always does. I know it because departure immediately follows every time I see those flour and grease coated tan boots.

But today is different. I especially don't want him to leave this morning. It's my birthday. I'm supposed to be Daddy's special person. If he leaves, whose special person will I be then? No one else ever curls me up in their lap and gently rubs my back. I want him to stay.

"I'm sorry, Peeta. You know I want to stay buddy, but I have to go to work. Can you stay here and wait patiently with Mommy?"

I shake my head angrily. I don't want to stay with her. She gets mean when he isn't around. But not when he's here, though. When Daddy is here, he protects me.

He hoists me up in those strong arms and carries me to the kitchen, where he fills his mug with coffee. I graze my hand across the stubble of his cheek, completely fascinated by it. The fine hairs across his chin make me feel safe. Maybe those give him superpowers, and that's what protects me.

"But maybe I'll bring you back a surprise. Good birthday boys get special surprises. What do you say to that?"

I ponder this. The promise of a surprise is tempting, but I'm still not convinced him leaving is a good idea. Sometimes he is gone a long time - too long. I don't like it. After another moment of debate, I shake my head again. I need him. My biggest fear is that he won't come back, that he won't be here to protect me.

"What if the surprise is Cheez-Its?"

My grin grows wide with blatant happiness. Cheez-Its are the greatest thing to ever exist besides Daddy, and I will do just about anything for them. I'll even be a good boy for Mommy.

"So it's a deal, then?" He flashes his white teeth through a smile, and again, my interest is piqued. I run my fingers along his lips and he playfully bites at me. It's then that suddenly I realize Cheez-Its aren't worth his absence. Tears run down my cheeks as a frown crosses my face, and he holds me tight while I sob into his shoulder.

"Why, what's the matter, Peeta?" He asks, so very concerned; more concerned than anyone else ever seems to be.

"What if you don't come back, Daddy?"

I see tears well in his eyes as he cradles me close, looking positively heartbroken. He kisses a tear away from the side of my cheek and whispers softly in my ear.

"Oh, Peeta. I'll always come back."

"Promise?" I ask, gazing up at him lovingly, my face reddened from weeping.

"I love you, son. People who love you always come back."

It's hard to fight my tears when he leaves, but Mommy's threat with the back of her hand quickly silences me. I'm quickly learning that my fear is the only thing stronger than grief.

As I watch the clock tick, I grow weary that he won't come back. Mommy just rolls her eyes at me when I ask about his return after what seems like an eternity. I just sit back in my chair, defeated. He promised me, and he's breaking his promise.

But I wait a little more patiently, just like he told me, and then he comes through the door, hands full of things that he says are just for his special birthday boy. He shows me the cake he made with little tiny baseballs and says my name on it, along with the box of Cheez-Its that I don't have to share. I jump up and down with excitement, grappling at his leg to pick me up so I can wrap my arms around his neck. And then I feel it: those prickly hairs against my soft cheek.

I feel safe all over again.

* * *

**Present**

The plastic miniature train circles around the bottom of the tree, periodically sending a cloud of steam into the air. I watch as it goes, over and over again, hesitating at the same spot on the track, fighting not to get caught. But it's the blue, shiny box just behind it that I worry about, sitting patiently and shimmering under the green and red strung lights. I stare at it, just as I have all morning, debating whether or not it should go to its rightful owner.

It's a cashmere scarf, and an expensive one at that. I was surprised the day we walked through the upscale department store and it caught her eye. She had seen it from a distance and stopped immediately to run her hands across the fabric, peering at it wistfully. I knew right then and there I was going to go back and buy it.

And a day later, I did.

But even then, I knew she would never accept such a profuse gift just because she's Katniss; so I wrapped it, waiting for the day that seemed appropriate. I suppose today would be as good of one as any; yet, all I can do is gaze at it from afar.

"You just gonna look at it all day?" Mitch asks while walking by, playfully kicking my shoe. I narrow my eyes and give him a face.

By mid-afternoon, my anxiety begins to permeate. Having an unusually quiet family dinner doesn't help, either. My mother passes the rolls and butter, watching me as I take small bites from my plate like a child, as if to make sure I'm eating my vegetables. My father is silent, yet tired, causing guilt to wash over me. I heard them through the walls last night; my father tirelessly defending me from her sharp words.

After dinner, I return to my chair across from the tree, my eyes focused underneath it. Mitch walks by again, only this time when he sees me, he grabs hold of the box and tosses it in my lap.

"If I lived after getting my heart ripped out, so will you."

When I step onto the front porch and knock on the door, the feeling is all too familiar. I'm back to where I was all those months ago, hoping that she'll give me the time of day. In attempt to calm my nerves, I wipe away the light mist of snow settling on my jacket. My eyes fixate on the rusty handle of the storm door. But when Katniss opens the door, her face covered with that scowl, it's no use. All the blood rushes to my cheeks.

"Merry Christmas," I say with a smile, attempting to make my words as steady as possible. I place my trembling hands behind my back, hoping she won't notice. I doubt it.

Her demeanor, however, is as stable as ever. "What do you want, Peeta?" she asks with a still glare. The question isn't rude, just to the point and emotionless, really.

"I, uh, wanted to give you this. I got it a while back, and well...you should have it," I tell her, pushing the box forward for her to grab. She just stares at me, a bit stupefied. Never once does she reach for it.

"Peeta, just go home. You don't owe me anything."

"That's not what this is about," I state as she begins to back away, allowing the storm door to swing back closed. I stop it with my foot.

"Well, whatever it's about then, it doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. It does to me."

"Look, Peeta, you don't have to be sorry. It's over and done with. Just forget about it, okay?"

For me, it's not over. I fear that it may be for her, though, and that thought becomes too much to handle. It sends chills throughout my bones, even in the bitter cold of December.

The snow picks up, and heavier flakes begin to fall.

"I don't want to forget," I tell her and drop my gaze, unable to look at her anymore.

I think she is going to go back inside and shut me out, but she hesitates. Instead, she stands at the door, her eyes fixed on me curiously. Katniss swallows hard.

"I love you, Katniss. I always have, and I don't think I'll ever love anyone else the same way."

If my words have affected her, she doesn't show it. She just looks down and tilts her head, revealing her tousled, loose braid, and I can see the tiniest fleck of snow on her eyelash. Her flawless mouth purses and it gives me hope. Maybe she'll say it back - or something to the effect.

She doesn't, though. We stand in silence for what seems like an eternity; her feet shuffle as her stare fixates on the cement porch - anywhere but me. I turn and watch as white droplets accumulate on the grass, patiently waiting.

_Just say something._

Then she balls her hands into fists and presses them against her hips, as if she is forcing herself to say it, "Merry Christmas, Peeta." She steps back. The storm dorm swings closed, and I gaze through the foggy paned glass as the heavy wooden door clicks shut. I memorize the splintered, worn wood until I'm familiar with every imperfection.

It's then that I can finally leave the box on her doorstep.

* * *

"Peeta, just stop. Step away from the hammer - please, before you hurt somebody," Mitch calls out to me atop the ladder after I stub my thumb attempting to rip up carpet tacks.

The tips of my fingers are swollen and throbbing. We've been at it since early this morning - painting walls, fixing the broken water heater, peeling the cracked ceiling plaster. Every time I attempt this kind of work, it's a blatant reminder that I have little to no idea what I'm doing. And while my brothers laugh at me, I curse them because they make it look easy.

My grandfather's old house has virtually no real monetary value. It's old and outdated. The roof needs repairs and the plumbing is mediocre at best. Two years ago, when Dad contemplated selling it after my grandfather's death, it was a rude awakening. It sat on the market for months with hardly anyone even coming to look at it. So when he opted to hold onto it rather than sell, I knew that eventually I would want it for myself.

I suppose it's the character that draws me to it; the fact that every time I look around, I see a piece of me somewhere - learning, growing, valuing - and that in me, I also see them. I see my father's understanding and loving nature. I see my grandfather's loyal, stubborn face. I see my efforts in trying to become a better, more patient person - much like everything, their lifelong efforts have had a hand in shaping me.

There is solace to be found somewhere between these walls.

Even though my mother cried and told me I didn't really have to leave, it's for the best. I look at it as a good thing that after two months, she is no longer harboring anger towards me. My decision to withdraw from MSU was never a popular decision, but a necessary one. I'll never regret doing it, as I think for me it clarified a number of things. I'll never wonder how things may have worked out with Madge, or what it would be like living somewhere other than Springdale.

"Hey, you're the one who told me to pull up the carpet tacks," I quip. Mitch steps down from the ladder, wiping the sweat from his brow. He has paint spatters embedded in the fine hairs on his arm. I can only imagine what Jovi looks like, as he has been stuck under the kitchen sink for what seems like hours now.

"Hey, Peet. Check it out..." Mitch points towards the front window. I look up, seeing that long braid hanging down the back of a dingy jacket, casually meandering under the awning. Her face is bundled by the hood from a sweatshirt, tightly pulled back; under it, I see a familiar white scarf. It's wrapped around her neck and tucked close to her chin, leaving no skin exposed.

She kept it.

The thought makes my stomach flutter.

The last couple of months have been hard. We have only seen in each in passing as she tends to work opposite shifts, and truthfully, Katniss is pretty successful at avoiding me anyway. I've been taking it one day at a time, just giving her space and time. Whatever we are, whatever we will be in the future is on her terms. I'm not going anywhere, and I'll wait a thousand lifetimes if I have to.

"Are you just going to sit there?" Mitch asks. I look over at him, stupefied. He points at the door.

My legs shake walking those few feet, and when I go and peer out at her, she gasps in a startled manner.

"Sorry. I saw you from the window..." She has a bag in her hands. It's small, brown and made of paper; the kind your parents would pack your lunch in as a child. I stare at it, wondering about the contents inside.

"It's cold. Do you want to come in?" I ask, pointing into the house behind me. She nods her head and steps inside, unraveling the scarf and sliding the hood off her head. Her hair is disheveled. I fight the urge to brush it with my fingers.

We stand alone in the silence of the empty living room. Carpet is haphazardly ripped apart. Wires hang loose from the light fixture that Mitch was working on. He and Jovi must have left during the brief moment I was outside, because now there are nowhere in sight.

I watch Katniss as she looks around curiously for a moment. I'm glad to see she isn't scowling today. Instead, she appears to be very indifferent. I can't quite read it.

She blinks. She shuffles her feet, even fixates on me like she's waiting; as if it's my duty to initiate the conversation that is seemingly going to happen. But I'm not going to do that. I've done far too much talking between us already. It's her turn.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," she finally says. Her words come out slow, like the unfolding of story. "About a lot of things, really. New York. Prim. Gale. Mom.  _You_."

Her brows narrow as she gazes at the wall next to me. "I kept wondering why I hated New York so much. At first, I thought it was maybe because Prim wasn't there. And yes, I did miss her...but whenever I really asked myself why, it was always because of you. It's because everything I saw reminded me of you and your stupid face, and I hate you for it."

_Wait, what?_

"I just wish I knew how to shake you..." she says with a hint of anger.

I don't care about her tone. It's her words that resonate over and over again, pumping blood to my heart, rekindling every piece of me that I thought was missing before, making me whole.

As she stands there in the middle of the disarray with her rumpled hair and pink-tipped runny nose, I commit it all to a mental picture. It's quite possibly the loveliest thing I've ever seen.

I don't allow her to speak again. I just grab her by the hips and pull her to me, taking claim of her mouth. It will never belong to another again - only me. I'll make damn sure of it.

As she wraps her arms around my neck and runs a hand through my hair, I recapture all my mental images of her throughout the years. They play like a slideshow before my eyes as holograms of her at different ages. Katniss playing the piano on stage in middle school, her being stoic as ever after her father's death, she and Johanna getting caught in the hallway smoking, and finally, Katniss only a few short months ago, dancing with her arms around me at our senior prom.

More things I would save from a burning fire.

When I finally allow her to break free from my lips, she hands me the crumpled bag. I peer inside it before pulling out a perfectly wrapped set of peanut butter cookies with a bow, just like the ones I gave her all those years ago. Suddenly, an idea comes to mind. It's a game we haven't played for some time, but the question has been burning in my mind for as long as I can remember. Taking a pencil from a nearby toolbox, I smooth out the paper bag and scrawl a single sentence in my sloppy handwriting.

_You love me? Real or Not Real?_

She gently takes the pencil from my grasp and smiles, then circles  _real_.

fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has helped with this - Chelzie and penandquill for their beta assistance, bleedtoloveher and the_magnificently_angry_beaver for constant feedback before the chapters went out. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, put me on alerts, favorites and has taken the time to read. It's been wonderful to write this and hear your feedback.


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